An arresting figure

This week for Wicked Wednesday, the prompt is ‘the arrest’. Corporal punishment and arrests have a long turbulent history that continues even today in many countries. The meme of a spanking by an officer of the law is a staple of spanking fiction. I’ve written several myself. The Perfect Costume is an erotic role play at Halloween that I posted Nov 1st, 2009. Another one is called Submission is about trust and was posted Sept 25th, 2009. The last one was When spanking meets the green-eyed monster posted on Sept 27th, 2009. The problem is for me, does writing about this topic validate the abuse of power that occurs all too frequently by law enforcement on a worldwide basis?

An interesting sidebar: I am currently reading How The Post Office Created America, and in chapter two, the author describes the penalties for stealing mail. The Post Office Act of 1792, imposed the death penalty for stealing mail, and was modified in 1799 to a sentence of forty lashes and imprisonment, but only for the first offense. The current penalty is fines and up to five years in prison.

The Sheriff of Nottingham was an unhappy soul. Robin Red Arse and his merry band of spankos were wreaking havoc on the King’s Men. Not content to best them in feats-of-arms, Robin insisted each defeated soldier was thrashed before being sent back to base in disgrace. Truth be told, he didn’t care about the knights and foot sloggers; nor about the fat clerics relieved of their butter dispensations, but this latest outrage was, well, an outrage. To think of the fate awaiting the fair Maid Marion. The scrumptious, delectable, alluring Marion—he swiped the drool from his lips. Presumably kidnapped—how else could such a delicious morsel of sweet curvaceous delight simply vanish? Even for Robin, this was a flog too far.

Disguised as a peasant, the Sheriff cut a surprisingly authentic one, he made his way through Nottingham Forest—picking up odd jobs, and intelligence along the ways. Slipping into the role of drovers’ assistant, he obtained entry to Robin’s encampment as the bawling oxen—likely ‘liberated’ from a nearby estate—were corralled for roasting later. The monthly fair was underway, but instead of puppet shows and wrestling, the centerpiece of entertainment was none other than the bodacious Marion.

Actually, her outrageous arse was. There was a sign above the whipping post—although pointless as the vast majority couldn’t read—that said in bold print, ‘Spank the maiden and feed a hungry child‘. What was shocking though, was not the bewitchingly nude Marion, hands shackled above her kerchief covered head, writhing while trying unsuccessfully to hide her abundant charms: It was the small troop of heavily armed King’s Guard who protected the personage of the duc d’Brittany. He was seated at a long table tabulating men and women as they passed, each time, writing in a ledger and amiably passing a silver bar to a laughing Robin next to him.

Seeing Friar Tuck tap a bung on a cask of ale, the Sheriff sidled up and asked—in his best Anglo-Saxon slang—what the fuck is going on? The rotund friar pulled a draft and snorted. “It seems fair Maid Marion was betrothed by the King’s command and she spurned the poxed whelp. ‘Tis rumored she rashly spoke of her devotion to young Robin Red Arse and stated she’d rather be arrested, gaoled and publicly flogged than to marry any but her one true love. The King agreed to her wager. One hundred pounds of raw silver bars* to be her Royal dowry, if she withstands the doubled number of blows given by the good people of the Forest.”
“And the duc?”
“The official witness of course. It’s said the King has no wish for the defiant Marion to be whipped to a bloody pulp, but, if anyone pulls their strikes, they will be flogged afterwards.”
“It seems so… unseemly.”

A shrill feminine squeal stilled the clamorous unwashed mass. All eyes turned towards the red line that bloomed across the succulent prodigious expanse of sweet white globes.

“That’s one!” The crowd roared its approval of Robin’s pronouncement. “Only one-hundred and ninety-nine to go, my one true love! Whip her good boys and girls. I want her loins on fire for after Friar Tuck pronounces us man and wife. I’ll likely need to mount her from behind!” Another shrill squeal. “That’s two!”

A lively jig was struck, and those waiting their turn started to dance to the music and cheer with every harsh snap of the strap. Loud applause greeted a particularly hard blow that had Marion jutting and wiggling her bottom in time to the music.

“And so it begins… aren’t you going to enter the lists… Sheriff? After all, this is the closest you’ll ever get to arresting the attention of the fair Maid Marion with your truncated tool of office.”

*Dowry roughly equivalent to 480,000 pounds today, or 570,000 euros or 621,000 dollars.
Source: According to Regia.org, a pound/372g of silver [by weight] was worth in current currency] approximately 4,800 pounds/5,700 euros/6,210 dollars, whereas one Saxon silver penny was worth 20 pounds in current money. A silver penny would buy 15 chickens or a cow’s eye. A pound/372g of silver [by weight] would buy 120 acres of land, the King’s lap dog or trained hunting dog, or a fledged Peregrine Falcon. Interestingly enough, a horse was less expensive as were slaves at ‘only’ 306g of silver. However, the fine for seducing a free woman was 465g of silver [6,000 pounds/7,111 euros/7,700 dollars] whereas raping a female slave was set higher at 504g of silver [6,500 pounds/7,703 euros/8,398 dollars]. Higher still was the fine for a priest working on Sunday at 930g of silver [12,000 pounds/14,222 euros/15,501 dollars].

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