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Let The Punishment Fit The Crime - Book 1 (Paul Melrose)

Let The Punishment Fit The Crime - Book 1 by Paul Melrose

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    • Average 2.3 from 3 ratings

A fascinating and erotic look at a possible future in which Ursula Deedes is a lady with a mission: to clean up Britain’s crime rate and give the criminals a lesson they will never forget!

As leader of the Radical Action Party, Ursula forcefully puts her views forward - as well as carrying them out at home with strict parental discipline!

The campaigning is long and hard, with every part of Ursula’s life up for media attention. Her own daughter bravely goes on TV to talk about the discipline as does one of her supporters, Julie, a victim of an attack.

Little does Ursula know the same fate awaits her as she leaves a nursing home late one night …

Finally the Radical Action Party is swept into power with an overwhelming majority and Ursula takes her rightful place as head of a new Government committed to pain!

And so, with the Radical Action Party firmly in power, the courts begin to hand out firm sentences to offenders.

New detention centres are set up and new staff are recruited and carefully trained to give the painful lessons required.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 4 / 2018

No. words: 47500

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Spanking and Bondage, Fem Dom - F/F

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

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An unsuspecting visitor to the large office building in Lambeth, just off the Kennington Road, would walk through the swing doors and gaze at the brightly decorated walls on the ground floor and assume from the happy faces of the chattering secretariat that this was the head office of some multi-national or perhaps a bank. However if he or she were to get past the efficient reception clerks, having been issued with a security pass allowed only to ‘those having pertinent business’ and walk upstairs two flights, a different world would be encountered. Immediately the long corridors take on a sombre appearance and the thick forbidding doors on either side make the hairs stand up on the back of the neck. At first, the visitor will wonder why and then it will dawn! There is no sound at all! It is eerie! Nothing... the effect that either implies the total absence of human activity or the presence of very effective noise proofing.
Our visitor, however, is not unsuspecting and is right to assume the latter. There is much human activity going on up here, a great deal of human activity which the visitor has come, armed with a permit, to inspect.
Stopping at one of the doors, the visitor turns the handle and as the door opens, total silence is replaced by an almost inhuman bellowing like a pig being slaughtered and the regular splaaaat of something striking tender flesh, each of these strikes accompanied by another choking squeal.
Once accustomed to the volume of the noise, our visitor steps inside and sees a large table bed device across which a naked teenage boy is strapped, bent over almost double so that his bare buttocks are uppermost. Standing over him is a woman in her early forties and her arm rises as the boy cries out in fearful anticipation, then, as our visitor watches, she lashes down a fearsome birch on his naked bottom for what is now the fifteenth stroke. The boy screams with pain and humiliation as the birch bites into his buttocks, vainly twisting and turning his body in agony, tears pouring down his face. He is a nineteen year old mugger who, with the help of his eighteen year old girlfriend, has robbed and beaten up two old pensioners. The woman glances occasionally at her assistant and continues to flog mechanically and efficiently. Our visitor frowns slightly and makes some notes on a pad.
Having seen enough our visitor quietly backs away and out of the room, closing the door gently, then walks the short distance to the next room, entering quietly. This time the ears are assailed by a higher pitched note, just as frantic and sustained, accompanied this time by a more solid, less predictable strike with a sound more familiar to our visitor’s ears.
Entering the room, our visitor sees a tall well-muscled man standing in front of another similar table, his hand raised aloft and about to deliver a vicious stroke with an awe inspiring four foot long heavy duty cane, its tip as thick as a man’s finger. At first the visitor cannot see beyond the man with the cane, but can only hear the pitiful soprano shrieks coming from behind him, then the eyes catch sight of the small chair in the corner on which there lies a pretty but rather too gaudy gold and black velvet dress, a black lace slip, suspender belt and stockings and, finally, a pair of tiny black lace panties. The owner has an obviously expensive, though not tasteful, sense of dress.
The visitor moves into the room and steps to the side for a clear view. Breathing deeply, our visitor gazes at the teenage girl, naked except for her bra, lying in anguish across the punishment table, her body bent in a U formation with her creamy white bottom uppermost, tight and stretched. The girl may well be pretty but it is difficult to tell when her face is red and swollen from sobbing.
The cane sweeps down again and lands with a vicious crack on her bare bottom, another vivid red stripe emblazoned immediately across her pale buttocks. Her scream reaches a new level of torment and her bottom writhes up and down and from side to side the cheeks opening and closing in her agony. She is screaming just as loudly as her boyfriend in the next room and her tortured bottom shows the marks of at least eleven strokes of the cane.
Her tormentor walks around the table and chats to his female assistant, stopping to switch on the overhead air conditioning fan as he does so. The young girl’s screams have lessened and now she is sobbing in pain and self-pity. She wriggles her shapely bottom, revealing the crevice of her vulva as she tenses and strains to relieve the dreadful agony. The visitor smiles approvingly. Aah, this is better! The experienced man has left her to dwell on her distress and her terror of the next stroke for nearly a full minute as he casually chats to his assistant. Our visitor recognizes that the time delay not only heightens the dread of the next stroke, but refuels the humiliation of the weeping girl, for, as she wriggles her bottom feeling the coarse blanket against her pubic hair and the cold air from the fan against her scorching buttocks, she is forcibly reminded that she is lying naked before this man, receiving the thrashing of her life, and her tears flow freely.
He ceases his conversation and walks round the punishment table, tapping the cane against his palm, his face grimly determined and as she turns her tear stained face towards him, she sees him coolly appraising her nude body as if she were some fish on a slab, knowing he is coldly calculating the most painful portion of her bottom to strike next. He stands staring, dispassionate and workmanlike, at her face. Her bright blue eyes are like mirrors as the lights in the room are reflected in her tears and she forms the words “Oh no... please... no more!” with her cupid mouth but no sound emerges.
The man says nothing but resumes his position at the side of her and she gives a despairing wail, realising that her entreaties have yet again come to nought, and turns her face away again, choking sobs punctuating her frenzied breathing.
The visitor watches approvingly as the well-muscled man raises the cane again, then brings it down in a scything arc until, once more, the room resounds to the satisfying sound of bamboo whipping into soft girl flesh. The retching sobs again become a searing scream of appalling pain and the red hot buttocks begin their violent choreography once more. Again the man casually walks away, tapping his palm with the cane. Again she will have to sob and wait... and wait.
The pain racked young girl is screaming in torment still from this latest stroke, for he laid it hard over a previous weal. He may wait even longer now before the next, so that the pain and the gut wrenching terror is intensified.
She now has another six to take... at least, but the visitor feels no compassion for she has been a very naughty girl indeed and when the caning is complete then, like her boyfriend, she will go to prison for a considerable time.
Longing to watch this until its completion, but aware of time constraints, our visitor leaves quietly, smiling happily at what has been witnessed, marking down a few points for the next review meeting, goes back down the stairs and departs the building. It is winter and the afternoons are getting dark, almost night time, but our visitor has no fears of walking down the side streets or taking short cuts to the bus stop, for the chances against being attacked are now very high indeed. The visitor smiles, thinking how recently it was that people were afraid to come out of their houses even in broad daylight and gives thanks for the revolution which gave Britain a new sense of discipline and purpose on March 19th 2001.
Before that, it was all so different!


The pretty, pale faced young mother whimpered as she listened to the sound of boots racing up the concrete stairs of the high rise flats accompanied by the terrifying sound of cruel, male animals breathing deeply and sniggering in feverish anticipation. It could have been anywhere, but as it happened it was Leeds on a rainy cold Sunday night in November. She stood inside the hallway of her 7th floor flat clutching a four year old girl whose pale face was streaked with tears.
“Mommy... why are they...?” she asked before the terrified woman thrust a hand over the child’s mouth.
“Ssshh! “she said, her voice breaking with fright. “Ssshh, love!” and they stood trembling as the heavy boots thudded onto their landing.
The woman choked back a cry and dragged the child back apace as a heavy boot smashed into the woodwork of the frail balsa wood door of the flat. She had left all the lights off in a desperate attempt to fool them but to no avail. Oh God, they knew she was home, oh God! She stood twitching like a marionette as the heavy boots thudded into the door, her face like chalk, spittle on her lips. Then she looked down and realised that she was nearly choking her small daughter whose face was turning blue and quickly she released her hand from the child’s throat. Spontaneously, the child gagged and coughed and the game was up. Laughter, triumphant laughter, from outside told the terrified woman that the men knew they were close to their prey.
The young woman, who had been roused from her bed by the shouting outside that had heralded their arrival, cried out and put both hands to her face as the door finally splintered and fell off its hinges.
“Help me, for God’s sake help me!” she screamed hysterically “Can’t anyone hear what’s happening, please help me... aaagh!” as the door fell in and the three grinning bikers stood framed in the doorway.
She stood, her face white with shock, holding the small child protectively in a pathetic and useless gesture as the big man with a scarred and pitiless face strode forward, his two grinning companions piling in after him. His voice was quiet and murderous, spitting hate.
“Went to the Police, didn’t you, you fucking bitch..! Identified us as pushers, you cow! Well, now you’re going to get yours!”
The woman, her eyes wide with terror, backed away dragging the child with her, a child now gabbling hysterically. The woman screamed “No! Please, God ... no I didn’t... I...!”
He leaned forward and raised his hand and instinctively she pushed the little girl to the side in case she caught the blow, but he stopped in mid swing, grabbed the child and threw her onto the armchair.
The huge biker spat in the woman’s face and she stood shuddering, her nervous system in complete breakdown, only barely conscious of the hot urine which suddenly flooded her panties. The men sniggered as they watched her humiliation.
“Lying cow!” the big man said then hit her hard across the face as the child screamed in terror. As the woman fell backwards, her mouth pouring blood, the huge biker spun her round so that she fell face down across the arm of the sofa. “Perfect!” he said softly, as he pushed her head down over the sofa, grinning at the sight of her raised bottom covered only by the thin night dress and her panties.
To a roar of approval from the other two, the big man put his hand to the neck of the night dress and ripped it from top to bottom, throwing the scraps to the floor. Through a mouthful of blood she gabbled, “No ... Please God ... No ... My baby ... Please, my baby ...!” then screamed as the huge hands moved round to grasp her bare breasts and pull cruelly on her nipples before moving back to her waist and tearing off her panties as if they were tissue paper. The other two licked their lips and adjusted their crotches as the big man, his evil face grinning with desire, roughly forced her legs open. She knew better than to resist him now and she cried with terror and shame as she heard the slither of the zipper on his leather pants.
She tried once more to appeal to any spark of humanity.
“Oh please take my child out... not in front of my baby... please... OH ... AAAAAAAAGH!!” The scream of a soul in torment as, without ceremony, the big man pulled her bottom cheeks apart and thrust his huge swollen member into her anus. The men roared with laughter as the tiny hole dilated, reddened and then bled profusely as the unrelenting battering ram thrust its way in and out of her until he was satisfied.
“Your turn!” he said to the waiting men and they moved into position behind her, laughing uproariously as the woman continued to bleed and scream and the child continued to lie shivering in the armchair, eyes rolling in her head, gibbering like a crazy thing, emotionally scarred for life.
They used the woman for over an hour, first one at a time, then all three at once, before a final smack in the mouth knocked her senseless. Then the men urinated all over her and the furniture before leaving, their merriment fused with the screams of the stricken child lying on the chair.
She would not go to the police again, they knew that, and neither would the neighbours in the adjacent flats who had heard every cry, every scream and had bolted their doors and knelt on the carpet praying that they would not be next.
It was Sunday, November 4th, the year 2000 ... Four months before the General Election that would change everything.


The old man had just left the Brixton chip shop and begun his stumbling walk back to his home by way of the service road next to the garages when he saw the girls. Four of them, two white and two black, laughing and joking, and at first he took no notice until they were almost level with him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, too late, he saw the bicycle chain which suddenly whipped across the back of his neck with a vicious sickly crack and he fell to the ground, crying out until four pairs of boots kicked him in the face, one after the other.
He felt them going through his pockets as he swallowed the thick warm liquid in his mouth, then he was rolled over facing the windows of his home where he could see his beloved old wife, staring down wide eyed, her mouth in a silent scream, helpless to do anything. Then a kick in the head sent him into oblivion.

It was still Sunday, November 4th.

The boy who was screaming for mercy was nailed to a crudely made cross lying on the floor of a garage in Moss Side, Manchester. He had been a police informer, planted as part of a desperate bid to nail the city’s affluent drug bosses. The police were virtually non-existent now in this part of the city and the area was ruled by gang chieftains, each with his own stretch of turf. Yet, despite the cutbacks which had reduced the police service to a rump, the few remaining officers tried desperately to fight the tide but the comparison with Canute was inescapable. The boy had provided some good information, but it was never enough and you were never sure who to trust. He had trusted one person too many, a copper taking kickbacks and sadly there were more and more of them ... disillusioned, cynical, swimming with the tide.
Thus the boy found himself stripped naked and subjected to a crude crucifixion, his screaming being ended by a petrol soaked rag being jammed in his mouth. Around him were gathered a dozen well-dressed people, men and women, who stared at the pathetic naked victim dispassionately. After some time, one of the men rose and, following a nod from an elderly grey haired man in a Savile Row suit, picked up a can of petrol and poured it over the boy, then picked up the cigarette lighter on the table. The boy’s eyes widened in helpless terror as the man, grinning, picked up the phone and rang the police.
By the time a police car arrived, the garage was empty... except for what looked like a charred black tailor’s dummy roasting on a blazing wooden cross.
It was still four months to the General Election.


In a lonely farmhouse near Kidderminster in the Midlands, the elderly couple tied hand and foot on the bed watched in helpless wide eyed horror as the teenage gang, high on cocaine and the family’s malt whisky, threw a screaming, bespectacled, plump woman of thirty five from one to the other as if she were a rag doll. The woman was the daughter of the house, timid and shy, who had spent her life tending her invalid parents who now were the unwilling witnesses to her humiliation.
The teenage girls in leathers who sat on the floor, swigging whisky and screaming with laughter, shouted out “C’mon you lot, let’s see what she’s got!” The four young men, who were performing the entertainment, grinned and chortled, throwing the woman ever faster around the room until she nearly fell over.
“Yeah, why not...” one boy sneered, “... bit of a dog but it’ll be a laff!” The woman screamed as he received her whirling body, then before projecting her in the direction of his companion, whipped off her glasses and threw them into the corner.
She was virtually blind now and this increased her panic as she fell against the next boy who pushed her on but hung on to the neck of her floral dress. With a rending tear, the dress gave way as she spun and she rotated into the next grinning persecutor with her dress torn to the waist, revealing her upper torso clad only in a stiff support bra covering her large breasts.
She cried in distress as the next boy finished the dress off, throwing the remnants in the corner and she was whirling round the room clad only in her bra, high waisted knickers covering her ample midriff and hindquarters and stockings.
The couple on the bed tried to move to gesticulate by rolling their heads in rage and fear, but this only provoked laughter from the boys and the woman was sent whirling on her way, shouting “No! please stop, please!” but to a loud hoot of laughter, the next boy received his victim, undid the clasp on her bra and tore it from her body as he sent her spinning on. The straps cut into her shoulders as he ripped the material and she cried in shame and pain as the straps suddenly snapped and the grinning boy held her large bra aloft.
Crying and whimpering as her large pendulous breasts were bared, the fleshy nipples erect in her fear, the woman pleaded with her persecutors as she was thrown round again, but to loud shouts of encouragement from the girls sitting on the carpet, the next boy put a hand to her waist and sent her spinning on again, roaring with laughter at the ripping sound as the remains of her knickers slithered around her knees.
“Lord ... what a bleedin’ fat arse!” he shouted and she squealed in her terror and tried to pull the material back around her naked loins, but a vicious smack across her bottom with a leather belt forced a scream of pain and she let go, the material falling around her feet.
The boys pulled her pants right off and then grabbed hold of her, forcing the screaming, naked woman onto her knees on the bed. She tried to crouch forward, embryo fashion, so that her genitals were hidden but as one boy pulled her head back forcing the big breasts outwards, so another ordered her to open her legs. Trembling, she did as she was told, kneeling right in front of her wide eyed, shocked and terrified elderly father who lay helpless to intervene in any way. The second boy, grinning at the expanse of flesh on the woman’s belly which hung down partly obscuring her loins, reached down in front of her and dragged up the fat of her abdomen with his palm so that the thickly furred vagina was clearly exposed. The terrified woman was told to pull the labia apart and, weeping with shame, she obeyed.
“This should be fun!” one of the boys said, grinning as he took the old man’s gag off.
“For God’s sake ...!” the old man cried. “You scum! What do you want? This is disgusting...!” but the boy holding his gag hit him across the face and he cried like a baby and lapsed into silence. Grinning, the boy pulled up the old man’s head until his face was pressing against his daughter’s vagina. “Now!... eat your lunch!” the grinning boy ordered, “... or I’ll kill all of you!”
The old man looked stricken with shock, shaking his head in disbelief, until the boy produced a flick knife and held it to the woman’s throat. Crying like a child, the old man leaned forward and stuck out his tongue, eventually finding the courage to lean forward that extra few inches to bury it deep into the gaping pink orifice as the boys and girls roared with laughter and the woman kneeling naked on the bed screamed in humiliation.


Very slow, too political story. 2 out of 5

The author should have updated the tale, which uses the year 2000, (13 years ago) as a basis for the fictional changes in UK. People actually using phone boxes!!! In addition, most of the novel is more like a history of the formation of a new political party. The little action regarding corporal punishment there is appears stilted. 2 out of 5 (DRayman)

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intriguing scenarios from this author...


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