by Frank Martinet
The moment Eva awoke on the second of February she was sweating and tense, though without knowing why. Her clock radio was cheerfully blaring REM's It's the End of the World As We Know It and she angrily slapped it silent.
Her palms were damp and her heart was thumping like a machine gun. A grim sense of dread overwhelmed her and she wanted to weep. Her dreams had been troubled and intense, but they were so vague that she was baffled as to the source of her anxiety.
Eva sat up, puzzled, mentally going over her physical situation and the world around her. She was in her own cozy bed. Bright sunlight seeped in through the edges of the blinds indicating a glorious day outside. She wasn't hurt in any way, and there was nobody else in her penthouse. She was warm, safe, and healthy. Why did she have this oppressive feeling like a thousand-ton weight was on her chest? She could hardly breathe!
Then she saw the calendar on the far wall with the date circled with a large red X through it and suddenly, like a kick to the gut, it all came back. "Oh fuck," she muttered. Her hands trembled as she sat at the end of her bed.
Today was the day. After eleven months of worry, chaos, anxiety, frustration, paperwork, plea bargaining, begging, and negotiation, her time had run out. Her attorney had tried everything - he'd filed a dozen motions that had been rejected, exhausted every appeal, and delayed the inevitable as long as he could. He finally concluded that Eva had the best deal she was going to get and advised her to just "take her medicine" and get on with her life.
"Oh fuck," muttered Eva again. "Fuck fuck fuck!"
She stood and walked into the luxurious bathroom, studying herself in the giant mirror. Even she had to admit that despite the stress of a restless night, she looked fabulous. She wore a tiny pale blue baby doll top that left her midriff bare so she could admire the flat belly four workouts a week and a careful diet gave her. Her full breasts stretched the fabric so thin she could see the distinct shape of the eraser-tips of her nipples. Below, she wore tiny red panties, so sheer they were practically invisible. She turned slightly, admiring the jut of her famous ass.
Not for the first time Eva wondered what portion of her fame and success was due to her skills as a singer and what amount was attributed to the gorgeously full rump the Good Lord had blessed her with. After slaving away in anonymity for nearly five years with two unnoticed albums released, she'd become an overnight sensation in her Gotta Booty video wearing a thong only a little more revealing than these silk panties. Two double platinum albums later she was a superstar.
Eva studied the rump in profile, running her fingers across the smooth flesh ruefully, wondering what it was going to be like. She'd never been spanked as a kid. Not even once. Her dad had left when she was five and her mom had been too busy working two jobs to keep food on the table to pay much attention to her kids' upbringing. And in general Eva had been a good girl. At age nine she'd started earning money babysitting, delivering newspapers, selling lemonade, and singing at birthday parties and clubs. She was seriously determined to make something of her life - much too preoccupied to get herself in childish trouble.
Yet now she had trouble - shitloads of it. She still found it bewildering how everything had escalated. A little too much to drink at a wild party, stupidly getting behind the wheel of her Porsche, and even more stupidly driving the wrong way on a one way street practically right into a cop car!
Eva stripped and hopped into the steaming shower, lathering soap over herself generously, shuddering as she remembered the nightmare of the arrest. They'd stripped-searched her at the police station, fingerprinted and photographed her. She was out on bail the next day, but it was still the most humiliating experience of her life.
Until today, of course. She shuddered again, her breathing strained. She still hadn't quite figured out how she was going to get through this. There was no question she would, of course: she had no choice. It was either take the whipping or lose her freedom for two years. The new anti-drunk driving laws were ultra-strict. Prison was mandatory with no early release for good behavior. She'd have to do the full sentence, and that was unacceptable. Not only would it derail her blossoming career (she could forget that starring role in a Hollywood movie she was being offered), but prison itself would be unendurable. Much better to just take the whipping and get it over with. Eva knew it really was a good plea bargain deal but that didn't make it any easier to endure.
Stepping out of the shower, Eva couldn't see anything - the room was a fog of steam. Normally, she found this comforting and soothing, but not today. She was too much on edge. In just a few short hours she would be suffering unbearable agony. It seemed surreal, like it couldn't possibly be true, yet she knew it was going to happen. This date had been on her calendar for months. The judge had graciously postponed the punishment day until the conclusion of her nationwide tour in last week. Now it was time.
There are some who say that the unknown is the most terrifying, but Eva no longer felt that way. While she didn't know, exactly, what a judicial whipping would feel like, she unfortunately knew exactly what to expect today. As part of her plea bargain the prosecution and her attorney had made sure she understood exactly what she was getting into. Every aspect of the procedure had been explained to her. She'd studied photos of severely whipped buttocks. She'd watched a videotaped flogging, and had interviewed a woman who'd been whipped. Eva's doctor had even examined her to certify she was healthy enough to endure the discipline.
All this preparation meant that while Eva didn't have to worry about surprises, she had more than enough to trouble her concerning the specifics of what was going to happen. She knew that she had to be at the courthouse at ten o'clock. From there she'd be transferred via official government transport to Riker's prison where the actual punishment would take place. After being admitted as a temporary prisoner (which would include a strip-search and other humiliations), a doctor would examine her one final time to confirm her ability to endure the punishment.
Then she would be led to the punishment room where there was an opaque viewing window. Supposedly, there'd just be some select media representatives and prison officials watching her, but she would have no control over that. A videotape would also be made, of course, for the prison needed an official record. Eva had received guarantees that the recording would never be made public, but her lawyer had cautioned her that once the tape was on the Internet there'd be no way to undo it, so she had better be prepared that there was a chance of that happening. With her fame, big money would undoubtedly be offered to anyone who could produce the tape, and though every precaution was going to be taken to prevent it, there was the possibility that someone could be bribed. Eva was really hoping her humiliation wouldn't be made public, but if it was, it was just another part of her punishment.
The guards would remove her prison gown, and she'd be strapped across an angled wooden platform that would leave her buttocks bent and utterly exposed for the rod. It wouldn't be comfortable, but it was designed to hold her in place safely so she couldn't injure herself or be injured by the whip striking the wrong part of her body.
The whip itself was as dreadful as can be imagined. It was a stout leather switch over four feet long with a fiberglass core. It was heavy and extremely flexible. Each stroke would leave a weal as thick as a rope across her ass. It would not cut the skin, but would sting insufferably, and the welt would throb and ache for days. Just a single stroke sounded bad enough to Eva, but she was due a whopping fifty strokes. Fifty! At one per minute, her punishment was going to take nearly an hour.
But she had to admit, her crime was a serious one. She could easily have killed someone driving while intoxicated. It was only because this was her first offense that she was being let off so 'lightly'. The judge still insisted the whipping be a severe one. After a previous incident involving a famous female figure, no one wanted to be accused of giving Eva celebrity treatment.
Eva was envisioning her ass covered with a massive crop of thick purple welts as she selected her outfit. Normally, she favored skin-tight jeans or slacks, or in warmer weather short-shorts or a mini-skirt: anything to show off her world-famous derriere. But she had the foresight to realize that wearing an outfit like that to a butt-beating would be foolhardy, so she selected a gauzy layered gown. It was not designed for winter, but she'd wear her long coat over it and shouldn't be cold. The main thing was that it was light and airy and loose - she doubted she'd be wanting anything hugging her ass for a long while after her whipping.
Dressed, she sat down at the mirror and did her hair and makeup. It was after eight already and her stomach was clenching into a tight ball. Though her belly was empty, there was no way she was going to eat anything this morning. Even coffee sounded nauseating. It was probably for the best anyway, as she didn't have time - she needed to leave in forty minutes. She certainly didn't want to be late to the courthouse: the prosecution had warned her that any non-cooperation on her part would result in either additional strokes added to her punishment or a revocation of the entire plea bargain.
At just before nine the intercom buzzed and she knew it was Rogers, her driver. She told security to let him in, and got her purse and coat and gloves. She was all ready by the time he knocked on the door.
Rogers was a giant black man, nearly seven feet, and seemingly half that wide. Off the job he was the sweetest guy, totally silly and surprisingly sensitive. But on duty he wore a perpetual scowl and was utterly intimidating - the ideal bodyguard. Eva was expecting him to make some joke or comment about the day and dreaded the discussion, but to her surprise he didn't say a thing but acted as though this was a routine pickup. He merely nodded, and warned her that the media was in full force below.
"I've got a friend of mine who's going to go out first in a different Escalade," he explained as they rode the elevator downstairs. "It hopefully will fool a few of the hounds, but the majority are already at the courthouse."
Eva nodded, not really listening. She was not in the best mood, tense and nervous, and she was sweating profusely. She just wanted this nightmare of an experience over with.
The courthouse was a madhouse: reporters and television cameras and paparazzi everywhere. Fortunately, Rogers and the prosecutor had cooperated and made sure there was a way for Eva to get inside without being bombarded: they parked in the underground parking garage and left the media outside. There'd be more in the courtroom, of course, but Eva would be separated and protected from them.
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