factory slave
09-17-2003, 05:48 AM
As any author knows, writing even an average story takes a lot of time. My Slavery 2020 story was quite average but still took ages!
I have an idea for a one-off story about a naive expat working in Malaysia being tricked by his local girlfriend into receiving the infamous Singapore/Malaysia rotan, a 2m long cane used to hit the bare buttocks. This certainly isn't a punishment to be taken lightly. The maximum number of strokes is 24 and any more than 16 will almost certainly necessitate a skin graft.
Here goes a rough draft:
The lights dimmed in the old Pudu Prison visitors' centre. Whilst the old empty mens' prison was waiting to be demolished, the enterprising authorities opened it up to the public. As well as the horrific cells and gallows, visitors were treated to a real video of a life prisoner chained up to receive 19 stokes of the dreaded rotan for rape.
The noise of the first stroke was deafening. Like everyone in that small theatre, Paul jumped in his seat. Women holding handkerchiefs over their mouths muffling their screams. The prisoner was not so lucky, his terrible howling could still be heard over the commotion in the theatre. Paul turned to Habibah, his Malay girlfriend sitting there unmoved. Whack! The second stroke slashed the man's buttocks, he roared in Malay, begging Allah for the beating to stop. Some visitors with sobbing children got up to leave. The strokes were roughly one a minute and this was going to be one long macabre show, Paul thought. Whack! The third stroke was the loudest so far and the man was now screaming non-stop. Paul couldn't begin to imagine the agony that man must have gone through. The camera switched from the man's face to his buttocks. Three slashes were oozing wth blood. Again, women screamed but Habibah remained calm. Whack! The fourth stroke had the prisoner screaming and shaking violently. Paul had never heard such noises coming from a human being and wasn't surprised when the main fainted. The video was stopped and a note appeared across the screen announcing that a doctor had revived the man before the beating re-commenced. Whack! The beating re-started. Jesus, thought Paul, stroke six, less than one-third of the way through so far. After stroke ten, the man had stopped shaking but howled constantly. The guard carrying out the eating took a break. Paul had had enough. "Let's go", he ordered. Habibah didn't even turn to him. "Shhh!" Paul got up to leave, only a few people remained to continue watching that horror, Habibah amongst them.
Outside in the tropical midday sun, Paul was shaking. He was actually in shock from that gruesome video. He glanced at his watch. Ten mnutes! That beating is still going on! Finally, the smiling Habibah came out to join him. "It's OK", she said, "I understand". In the car home, Habibah explained that the rapist had lost a lot of "face" in the prison by screaming and most men are able to keep reasonably quiet. She then asked Paul a question which shocke him. "How many strokes do you think you could take?" Paul just laughed replying, "About as many as you!"
Habibah's face hardened, "Men over 50 and women are exempted from caning!"
Habibah was unlike any other girl Paul had met, not that'd he met many. He'd had little luck with women in his native England and his posting to Malaysia was a dream come true. He'd never really thought about marriage, never having had a real gilfriend, but was starting to believe Habibah was the one. They still hadn't had sex but he understood Habibah, as a muslim, didn't believe in sex before marriage. Also her being a muslim would be a huge barrier. He'd have to convert to Islam, say goodbye to beer and worst of all in his mind, be circumcised.
H: "Paul, do you love me?"
P: "Of course I do."
H: "And you'd do anything for me?"
P: "Anything."
H: "Anything, you'd convert to Islam and have the op-"
P: "Not that, I just can't."
H: "OK, I umm don't think you'll change your mind so I have an idea. A sort of test. Do you want to hear?"
P: "OK."
H: "I want you to take a caning, like the man in the video."
P: "What!"
H: "Not 20 strokes or whatever, just 5 or 6."
P: "You're crazy, how do I get myself caned? Pay someone? ha ha."
H: "This is our marriage you idiot! I'm not laughing. You're not man enough to have a small operation. If you're not prepared to make a small sacrifice for me, a small sign, then you're not my man!"
With that, she stormed out of Paul's house.
Two weeks passed, not a call. She'd hung up when he'd called, ignoring all his messages. Enough was enough, he went round to confront her. The lights were on, music and laughter from within, a good sign. Composing himself at her door, he bent over to remove his shoes, before ringing her bell. Her sexy strappy heels were there along with .... two pairs of man's shoes. He fled vowing to himself that they were finished.
It was a lonely two months in Malaysia, no friends and no Habibah. He had to see her, it would have to be an SMS message. "I love you. I'm sorry". Within seconds, his eyes lit up when she replied but his heart sank with the one word reply:
"caning?"
His phone rang.
H: Well?"
P: I'm starting to think about it. You'll marry me right?"
H: Yes my dear. Like we discussed".
P: Can I think about it?
H: Let me know tomorrow by SMS. Bye"
This was insane but what was a caning compared to a lifetime with the girl of his dreams? Besides, maybe it was a test to see f he woud agree. After all, how can she arrange a caning? What did he have to lose. His message, "Yes, I'll do it".
From that moment, life was great again. He met Habibah every night and she never mentioned the crazy caning again. Wedding plans soon took over any conversations they had. Paul spoke no Malay whatsoever so left all the financial arrangements to her. They both agreed to open a joint bank account which made things so much easier. As well as Paul's fairly large expat salary going in every month, monthly interest of $400 from an inheritance payment went in to. It was going to be a great wedding. Habibah soon moved into Paul's place but, of course, they didn't have sex. He never mentioned the caning and hid any newspaper stories of men being sentenced. He even drove his car the long way around town to avoid that hell prison.
Habibah was often out when Paul returned from work, and he'd change into old clothes, watch TV and wait for her. One night in the midst of yet another sit-com, Habibah phoned
H: Paul, please come here.
P: Where?
H: To the Section 15 Police Station. I'll meet you out the front. Hurry!"
Paul could hear she was distressed, he jumped into his car still in his cut down shorts. Speeding to the Police Station, a million things ran through his mind. What could've happened?
She appeared in his headlights. She didn't look too distressed and was wearing that small sexy dress and strappy heels. He parked across the road. Waiting to cross, he could see it was a huge Police Station with police everywhere. He approached Habibah. What was wrong with her? Why was she looking away?
P: Hi.
She looked at him for a few seconds, no emotion. Suddenty, she grabbed his scruffy t-shirt and thrust her knee into his groin. As Paul doubled over in agony, her knee came up again striking his lower lip. Habibah ran screaming to the nearby policemen. Three policemen came running over roughly pulling Paul to his feet. Habibah appeared, her dress torn, her eye make up smudged by tears. She shouted at the three policemen in Malay, pointing at Paul. A fourth policeman appeared, snapping handcuffs on Paul before dragging him away. With a kick, Paul's body smashed onto the floor of that dark cell, the steel door slammed behind him. Apart from landing on his shoulder whilst still handcuffed, his balls were hurting like hell and maybe two of his front teeth were loosened. That crazy woman, what's going on? He was too scared to shout out. He'd be in that roach-infested cell for he night.
The next morning, a policeman appeared.
P: What's going on?
The policemen said nothing, gesturing to a pair of leg chains. Two more policemen soon appeared and Paul knew he's better put the chains on. Two men led him out to a truck with six other chained men inside. Once inside, yet another policemen chained the six men together by the ankles.
They arrived at what he guessed was a courthouse. The six prisoners were locked in a cell for most of the day before returning to the police station. Eventually, two days later, a man from the British Embassy arrived
BE: No worries, Paul, everything's OK. They've explained, right?"
P: I have no idea what's going on. What s this?
BE: Let me see. It's in Malay but it says here you sexually assaulted a girl, name withheld, two days ago, just outside.
P: Thats my girlfriend!
BE: Well, she's pressed charges.
P: She's insane. Just her joke. Lemme see in England, I'd get a fine for this, right?
BE: Well, maybe. I have to tell you Paul, this is Malaysia, but try not worry now. Their legal system is very fast, so you'll now by next week.
I have an idea for a one-off story about a naive expat working in Malaysia being tricked by his local girlfriend into receiving the infamous Singapore/Malaysia rotan, a 2m long cane used to hit the bare buttocks. This certainly isn't a punishment to be taken lightly. The maximum number of strokes is 24 and any more than 16 will almost certainly necessitate a skin graft.
Here goes a rough draft:
The lights dimmed in the old Pudu Prison visitors' centre. Whilst the old empty mens' prison was waiting to be demolished, the enterprising authorities opened it up to the public. As well as the horrific cells and gallows, visitors were treated to a real video of a life prisoner chained up to receive 19 stokes of the dreaded rotan for rape.
The noise of the first stroke was deafening. Like everyone in that small theatre, Paul jumped in his seat. Women holding handkerchiefs over their mouths muffling their screams. The prisoner was not so lucky, his terrible howling could still be heard over the commotion in the theatre. Paul turned to Habibah, his Malay girlfriend sitting there unmoved. Whack! The second stroke slashed the man's buttocks, he roared in Malay, begging Allah for the beating to stop. Some visitors with sobbing children got up to leave. The strokes were roughly one a minute and this was going to be one long macabre show, Paul thought. Whack! The third stroke was the loudest so far and the man was now screaming non-stop. Paul couldn't begin to imagine the agony that man must have gone through. The camera switched from the man's face to his buttocks. Three slashes were oozing wth blood. Again, women screamed but Habibah remained calm. Whack! The fourth stroke had the prisoner screaming and shaking violently. Paul had never heard such noises coming from a human being and wasn't surprised when the main fainted. The video was stopped and a note appeared across the screen announcing that a doctor had revived the man before the beating re-commenced. Whack! The beating re-started. Jesus, thought Paul, stroke six, less than one-third of the way through so far. After stroke ten, the man had stopped shaking but howled constantly. The guard carrying out the eating took a break. Paul had had enough. "Let's go", he ordered. Habibah didn't even turn to him. "Shhh!" Paul got up to leave, only a few people remained to continue watching that horror, Habibah amongst them.
Outside in the tropical midday sun, Paul was shaking. He was actually in shock from that gruesome video. He glanced at his watch. Ten mnutes! That beating is still going on! Finally, the smiling Habibah came out to join him. "It's OK", she said, "I understand". In the car home, Habibah explained that the rapist had lost a lot of "face" in the prison by screaming and most men are able to keep reasonably quiet. She then asked Paul a question which shocke him. "How many strokes do you think you could take?" Paul just laughed replying, "About as many as you!"
Habibah's face hardened, "Men over 50 and women are exempted from caning!"
Habibah was unlike any other girl Paul had met, not that'd he met many. He'd had little luck with women in his native England and his posting to Malaysia was a dream come true. He'd never really thought about marriage, never having had a real gilfriend, but was starting to believe Habibah was the one. They still hadn't had sex but he understood Habibah, as a muslim, didn't believe in sex before marriage. Also her being a muslim would be a huge barrier. He'd have to convert to Islam, say goodbye to beer and worst of all in his mind, be circumcised.
H: "Paul, do you love me?"
P: "Of course I do."
H: "And you'd do anything for me?"
P: "Anything."
H: "Anything, you'd convert to Islam and have the op-"
P: "Not that, I just can't."
H: "OK, I umm don't think you'll change your mind so I have an idea. A sort of test. Do you want to hear?"
P: "OK."
H: "I want you to take a caning, like the man in the video."
P: "What!"
H: "Not 20 strokes or whatever, just 5 or 6."
P: "You're crazy, how do I get myself caned? Pay someone? ha ha."
H: "This is our marriage you idiot! I'm not laughing. You're not man enough to have a small operation. If you're not prepared to make a small sacrifice for me, a small sign, then you're not my man!"
With that, she stormed out of Paul's house.
Two weeks passed, not a call. She'd hung up when he'd called, ignoring all his messages. Enough was enough, he went round to confront her. The lights were on, music and laughter from within, a good sign. Composing himself at her door, he bent over to remove his shoes, before ringing her bell. Her sexy strappy heels were there along with .... two pairs of man's shoes. He fled vowing to himself that they were finished.
It was a lonely two months in Malaysia, no friends and no Habibah. He had to see her, it would have to be an SMS message. "I love you. I'm sorry". Within seconds, his eyes lit up when she replied but his heart sank with the one word reply:
"caning?"
His phone rang.
H: Well?"
P: I'm starting to think about it. You'll marry me right?"
H: Yes my dear. Like we discussed".
P: Can I think about it?
H: Let me know tomorrow by SMS. Bye"
This was insane but what was a caning compared to a lifetime with the girl of his dreams? Besides, maybe it was a test to see f he woud agree. After all, how can she arrange a caning? What did he have to lose. His message, "Yes, I'll do it".
From that moment, life was great again. He met Habibah every night and she never mentioned the crazy caning again. Wedding plans soon took over any conversations they had. Paul spoke no Malay whatsoever so left all the financial arrangements to her. They both agreed to open a joint bank account which made things so much easier. As well as Paul's fairly large expat salary going in every month, monthly interest of $400 from an inheritance payment went in to. It was going to be a great wedding. Habibah soon moved into Paul's place but, of course, they didn't have sex. He never mentioned the caning and hid any newspaper stories of men being sentenced. He even drove his car the long way around town to avoid that hell prison.
Habibah was often out when Paul returned from work, and he'd change into old clothes, watch TV and wait for her. One night in the midst of yet another sit-com, Habibah phoned
H: Paul, please come here.
P: Where?
H: To the Section 15 Police Station. I'll meet you out the front. Hurry!"
Paul could hear she was distressed, he jumped into his car still in his cut down shorts. Speeding to the Police Station, a million things ran through his mind. What could've happened?
She appeared in his headlights. She didn't look too distressed and was wearing that small sexy dress and strappy heels. He parked across the road. Waiting to cross, he could see it was a huge Police Station with police everywhere. He approached Habibah. What was wrong with her? Why was she looking away?
P: Hi.
She looked at him for a few seconds, no emotion. Suddenty, she grabbed his scruffy t-shirt and thrust her knee into his groin. As Paul doubled over in agony, her knee came up again striking his lower lip. Habibah ran screaming to the nearby policemen. Three policemen came running over roughly pulling Paul to his feet. Habibah appeared, her dress torn, her eye make up smudged by tears. She shouted at the three policemen in Malay, pointing at Paul. A fourth policeman appeared, snapping handcuffs on Paul before dragging him away. With a kick, Paul's body smashed onto the floor of that dark cell, the steel door slammed behind him. Apart from landing on his shoulder whilst still handcuffed, his balls were hurting like hell and maybe two of his front teeth were loosened. That crazy woman, what's going on? He was too scared to shout out. He'd be in that roach-infested cell for he night.
The next morning, a policeman appeared.
P: What's going on?
The policemen said nothing, gesturing to a pair of leg chains. Two more policemen soon appeared and Paul knew he's better put the chains on. Two men led him out to a truck with six other chained men inside. Once inside, yet another policemen chained the six men together by the ankles.
They arrived at what he guessed was a courthouse. The six prisoners were locked in a cell for most of the day before returning to the police station. Eventually, two days later, a man from the British Embassy arrived
BE: No worries, Paul, everything's OK. They've explained, right?"
P: I have no idea what's going on. What s this?
BE: Let me see. It's in Malay but it says here you sexually assaulted a girl, name withheld, two days ago, just outside.
P: Thats my girlfriend!
BE: Well, she's pressed charges.
P: She's insane. Just her joke. Lemme see in England, I'd get a fine for this, right?
BE: Well, maybe. I have to tell you Paul, this is Malaysia, but try not worry now. Their legal system is very fast, so you'll now by next week.