The punishment for stealing books

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-24

I run a small bookstore in a certain place. Because I often serve customers alone, theft frequently occurs. To prevent theft, I designed a reflective mirror system so that I can see what's happening in the store even from the back room.
About two weeks ago, a young woman, around twenty years old, walked into my bookstore. I asked her if she wanted any books, and she said she was just browsing. Since she was the only customer at the time, and I had some orders to process, I let her read in the store alone while I went to the back room. A minute or two later, I glanced up and was shocked. I saw the woman secretly putting a hardcover book into her bag. I came out and asked her if she had found the book she wanted, but she brazenly said she didn't have it and started walking out.
I blocked her way, grabbed her bag, and said, "You didn't find the book you wanted? But you haven't paid for this book in your bag yet!"
I opened her bag and took out the book. At first, she said she brought it, but when I opened the book, I saw my bookstore's mark inside. I told her I would call the police; I could only hand over thieves to the police.
But her reaction surprised me. In many similar cases I've encountered, book thieves are nonchalant, but she was terrified, almost in tears (of course, she might have been trying to gain my sympathy).
I told her that her actions were theft, a crime, and she should be punished by law. She begged me not to call the police; she was undergoing junior bar training, and her parents had paid hundreds of pounds for her to obtain her degree and pass the bar exams. If I reported her, she would never be qualified to be a lawyer again.
I said it was her own fault, and she should have thought of this sooner. She said she knew she was wrong, but if she were reported, her life would be ruined, and she would have no face to face her parents.
At that moment, something suddenly occurred to me. A few years ago, my son Richard was a mischievous student. When he went too far, I would whip him a few times with a rattan cane I'd gotten from the day school. I was certain that cane was still upstairs. Looking at the girl in front of me, admitting her mistake while begging me not to call the police, I couldn't help but recall the first time I was about to whip my 12-year-old son with the cane, and how he begged me not to.
I told the girl, "Since you admit that trying to steal books is a crime, then you must be punished. I won't call the police unless you agree to accept my punishment."
She hesitated and asked what I meant, but I think she already guessed. I told her that I had a rattan cane from the school upstairs, which was an option for her. Otherwise, I would call the police immediately. She asked me how I would punish her if she agreed to accept my punishment.
I told her that the punishment with the cane included two aspects—pain and humiliation. Based on her actions, she absolutely deserved to be severely punished with the cane. I was going to make her wear pants and give me nine lashes on her buttocks, but the final tenth lash would have to be on her bare bottom. Richard (my son) was most reluctant to take off his pants and expose his already bruised buttocks to receive the final lash with the cane—and the humiliation of a 20-year-old woman having to take off her pants in front of strangers and expose her bruised buttocks was undoubtedly much stronger.
After I told her about the punishment, she was silent for a moment, then burst into tears. She said she didn't have the courage to take off her pants in front of strangers. I told her she could go outside and think about it. I left her bag and told her to come back at 6 p.m. if she decided to accept my punishment, otherwise I would call the police.
I looked at her closely. She was a very beautiful young woman, about 20 years old, 5 feet 4 inches tall, and well-proportioned, as I had mentioned. She had long brown hair and was wearing a blue cotton bodysuit that accentuated her breasts beautifully; she didn't appear to be wearing a bra. She was wearing white leggings and sandals.
The fabric of her leggings was thin, offering little protection. If she was willing to accept my punishment, she would fully experience the taste of the cane, which I was quite satisfied with. I told her that if she decided to accept the punishment, she had to wear her current clothes; if she changed clothes or wore pantyhose underneath, I would make her be punished naked from head to toe.
After she left, when there were no customers, I checked her bag and confirmed that her claims about attending junior bar training were true, because there was an orange junior bar training student ID inside. Her name was Michaela Peterson, and her address was on the ID. My bookstore closes at 5:30, and I easily found the cane upstairs. I tried swinging it a few times and then placed it on my bed.
I chose 6:00 because both of my shops would be closed by then, and no one lived upstairs in those shops. So if Michaela accepted the cane punishment, no one would hear her screams during the process.
Just before 6:00, the doorbell rang, and I opened the door. Michaela stood in the doorway, and from her expression, she seemed to have made up her mind. She said she had no choice; she had decided to accept the cane punishment and hoped it would be over quickly. I asked if she needed to use the restroom, and she said no. So I took her to my bedroom and left her there for a while. I did this intentionally because I knew that waiting would enhance the effect of the punishment. When I returned, Michaela was holding the cane, probably imagining what it would feel like to be whipped across her buttocks. Well, it was time; I would soon let her know what that felt like.
I had her stand on the edge of the bed, about two feet away, and then bent over, placing her hands on the bed. Her white pants immediately bulged out below the buttocks, perfectly displaying her two buttocks to me. Through the thin fabric, I could see the shape of her underwear. Those broad, womanly buttocks were truly alluring and seductive! I gently tapped the cane on her buttocks, then raised it to see if there was enough room to swing it freely. Then I said, "I'll give you one last chance—do you want me to call the police?"
She whispered through clenched teeth, "No!" So I told her it was best not to let anyone know, so she should avoid shouting to prevent others from coming in and asking what was happening. I told her that for every loud shout, she would receive an extra lash. Actually, no one would hear, but Michaela didn't know that, and if she shouted and struggled every time she was lashed, it would be a bit of a killjoy. Anyway, she had asked for the punishment herself.
To increase the surprise of the first strike, I swung the cane a few times in the air while she waited for the first lash. Each time I swung the cane, I could see her buttocks tighten. Then I raised the cane as high as I could and lashed it down with all the strength of my right arm, my entire 152-pound weight seemingly concentrated in that single strike. The cane lashed her buttocks hard, making a sharp "crack!" sound.
Michaela convulsed, jumped up, her hands aimed at her buttocks, and screamed in pain, but she immediately restrained herself and bent over to await the next lash. I admired her courage. I counted, "One!"
I didn't rush to deliver the second lash, but instead savored the sight of Michaela's full, alluring buttocks. Then I delivered the second lash, slightly lower than the first, and with the same force. Aside from an involuntary twist of her body, she performed quite well. I said, "Two!" Almost simultaneously, I delivered the third lash. This time, the intended effect was achieved, causing her to scream loudly. I didn't count that, but instead gave her another slap on almost the same spot on her butt.
She hopped around, and I could hear her taking deep breaths, but this time she didn't scream. She was now a third of the way through the punishment, which was still in her pants. I observed her closely; Michaela had started to cry, her breathing was rapid, her breasts heaved inside her t-shirt, and she remained in the position of being beaten, but she couldn't help but writhe, her beautiful hair now disheveled, some strands falling in front of her eyes.
My fourth lash struck the lower edge of her buttocks, making her cover her bottom with her hands, but she immediately released them. My next lash struck the same spot, and she screamed again. So that didn't count. I lashed her bottom again, hitting the same spot.
My sixth lash was somewhat experimental; I aimed at her left buttock, so the tip of the cane was deeply embedded in the middle of her pants. She was now crying incessantly, but this time she didn't scream. With the remaining three lashes, I shifted my focus downwards, striking her buttocks where they were exposed above the edge of her underwear. I lashed with all my might, but although she convulsed violently with each strike of the cane against her buttocks tightly encased in her pants, she didn't scream anymore. I was truly exhausted.
After the ninth lash (actually the eleventh), I stood there, admiring Michaela's buttocks tightly covered by her pants, listening to her sobbing. Even though I had counted to nine, she remained bent over, motionless.
I told her to straighten up, and she slowly and unsteadily stood up. She covered the back of her pants with her hands, spreading her long fingers to gently rub her aching buttocks. After she recovered slightly, I told her to take off her pants. At first,
she was reluctant, but I told her it was her own choice, and I insisted she take them off. Knowing there was no other way, she turned away and began to unzip her pants, carefully pulling them down. I didn't scold her for being slow. Clearly, removing those tightly wrapped pants from her swollen, whip-bruised buttocks was extremely painful. She was wearing almost transparent white underwear underneath, and as her pants slipped down to her sandals, the whip marks on her buttocks were clearly visible through the thin fabric.
I told her to take off her underwear as well, and after a moment's hesitation, she complied. She had to be even more careful while removing her underwear, but still groaned in pain from time to time. When her underwear reached her feet, I told her to bend over again. She hesitated, then assumed the same whipping position, trying to keep her trembling legs together.
I stood there for a full minute, staring at the welts I'd inflicted on her buttocks with the cane. Then, with all my might, I swung the cane down, this time at an angle, striking all the larger welts and eliciting a horrifying scream from her. I said that didn't count, but after she got back into position, I simply tapped her buttocks lightly with the cane and said, "10!" She'd already been beaten badly enough, and she'd been quite brave.
I told her she could stand up now. As she did, I saw blood seeping from the last welt on her buttocks; no wonder she'd screamed. I told her to get dressed and suggested she wear trousers instead of underwear, which she did. I also told her to wash her face, fix her hair, and come downstairs where I'd wait for her.
When she finally came down, I told her she'd behaved well during the punishment, and that, for me, the matter was over. I poured her a cup of tea and suggested she stay in the room for a while until the pain subsided. Otherwise, it might give away to her roommates. She accepted my suggestion, and I sat there smugly drinking my tea, watching her stand there, still sobbing softly.
After a while, we went into the living room together, and I turned on the TV. We watched until 10 o'clock. By the time the news ended, she had stopped crying, and her tears had dried. While watching TV, she tried to sit down. She very carefully moved her bottom closer to the chair, but as soon as her bottom touched the chair, she jumped up with a "Ouch!" in pain, her legs hopping around. She turned around, forcing a smile, and said, "I can't sit now. I'd rather stand."
After the news ended, Michaela applied some makeup and tried to control her facial expressions so that no one would guess what had just happened. But she still walked with a limp, and her face still showed signs of pain from time to time. She told me that her roommate was very careful about everything, and all she could tell her was that she had bumped her leg and was badly hurt. She didn't leave until almost 11 pm, and I wished her good luck in her future work.
I didn't see her for a long time after that, until yesterday when she came into my bookstore again. This time she was wearing a summer floral dress. There were some other customers there, and after they bought their books and left, she came to my counter. I was both surprised and delighted to see her. I asked her how she had been.
She knew what I meant; she said that although she applied pain relief cream every night, her buttocks were still painful, especially when sitting. The bruises on her buttocks hadn't faded yet, and she couldn't go to work that day, so she had to take two days off. But she said she knew this was the punishment she deserved, and this time she came back specifically to apologize to me, promising she would never do it again.
I told her she was a brave girl, but she needed someone to give her a good spanking and discipline her. She said, if that's the case, then that person is already here! As she said this, she helplessly rubbed her bottom. She also told me that in the past two weeks, she hadn't worn trousers or jeans because they rubbed so painfully against her bottom; she could only wear loose skirts.
Finally, she took ￡3.95 from her purse and handed it to me; she had finally bought the book that had caused her so much trouble! Then she walked out of my bookstore, and I looked at her swaying bottom in her dress, imagining the numerous welts that only I had seen.
Since then, no one else has stolen the book, but I think if I catch another book thief, I will offer her the same option. For Michaela, the cane might be more effective than a fine, and of course, I don't need to ruin her future.
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Thank you so much!
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Thank you for sharing!
d8888d Reply Content-------------------------------------------------------
Thank you for sharing!

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The punishment for stealing books

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