Let Justice Be Done

Like all systems of government, the New World Order, insisted that justice should not just be done, but that it should be seen to be done. That meant, the punishment should be observed.

Not everyone was asked to carry out this civic duty. There was a group of people known as ‘arbiters’ who were called upon to carry the responsibility. In the early days, they had been obliged to attend in person, to watch floggings and electrocutions, to stand by and get splattered with blood. Now they could do this remotely. The list was made-up of citizens in good standing, which was to say - wealthy, connected and not yet suspected of any scandal. And who paid the state a significant fee to watch these punishments.

Caroline Ross was executive in a logging company that had destroyed much of the Amazon. She was blonde, beautiful, and hopelessly cruel. She preferred to carry out her small role in the judicial system from the comfort of her penthouse apartment. And tonight, as on so many occasions before, she did so naked under silk sheets, enjoying a glass of expensive Champagne.

She stretched luxuriously under the sheets and activated the Arbiters Channel. It cast a pale glow over her body in the darkened bedroom. The faces of five prisoners materialized, suspended in columns of data. She skimmed each profile with a growing interest.

Prisoner One: Aaron Kai, age 22, a factory hacker with a face too soft for the hard lines of the city. Black hair hung over his sullen, defiant expression, though his record hints at fear buried beneath that bravado. He will face a fine-tipped plasma whip, designed for precise, searing stings that will tattoo his skin with streaks of electric blue - an efficient reminder of his crime.

Hm, she thought. That’s a nice touch. I wonder if I can hire him through State Sexual Services?

Prisoner Two: Lila Sheng, 25, an info courier with a sinewy build, scars mapping her forearms. She was caught with a high-priority data chip. She’ll be meeting the fibre-laced flagellum, strands woven with tiny sensors that adjust intensity to the victim’s tolerance, guaranteeing that the punishment hovers right at her edge of her maximum endurance.

Prisoner Three: Mateo Rios, age 20, a bare-knuckle brawler with intense, unbroken eye contact, his body a landscape of bruises from past encounters. He’s scheduled to receive the neuro-filament lash, designed to resonate against muscles and nerves in hypnotic rhythm. And almost musical punishment that gradually drains the defiance from its target.

A tough guy being broken. That would be worth watching.

Prisoner Four: Jessalyn Paige, 18, a novice thief, her only crime a string of petty thefts. She has the wary, wide-eyed expression of someone who hasn’t yet learned the weight of consequences. She’ll receive the synthetic cat-o’-nine, each braided strand embedded with microchips to measure exactly how much pain was delivered. A device more like a probe than a punishment.

Then her eyes fell on Prisoner Five: Luna Sen, 29. She exuded a flawless, cold beauty, her features sharp as polished glass and her dark eyes filled with the detached arrogance of someone who’d never been denied. At just 29, her wealth would have made her untouchable - or so she believed. Her punishment was a first in the system - a long blacksnake whip.

Caroline hovered over the details, curiosity drawing her finger to click. It had to be this one. A fucking blacksnake whip?

The feed zoomed in, and she purred with pleasure as she watched them setting up the beating. This king of was unique, and she watched them pil and prepare it. A midnight leather coil, dark and smooth. Unlike the standard synthetic whips, this was organic—handcrafted, some kind of ancient relic from the 1920’s. Long before the New World Order was even thought of. Four feet of flexible, dense leather, tapering to a fine, ruthless point. It was designed for a singular impact, a crack that could strip a target’s flesh bare. It had no microchips, no sensors. The Arbiters, she realized, had brought this one out of their private collection. This wasn’t about punishing a disobedient girl. This was happening because someone wanted to see what this whip could do to a woman’s back, thighs and buttocks.

Caroline stared at it for a long time, feeling the magic of something not created by algorithms or enhanced by tech. The idea of that single, powerful strike filled her with a lingering sense of awe, a raw thrill. She lingered on the thought, her finger hovering over Luna’s face on the selection panel. However she might be feeling, cowering in her cell handcuffed, and waiting for punishment, Luna should consider herself lucky. With those looks and that background, she would have been an ideal candidate for the Orb.

Caroline took a quick swallow of her Champagne and made her selection. The punishment was to begin in five minutes which was just long enough for her to open the bedside draw and find her favourite vibrator. Justice had to be seen to be done, but it didn't mean you couldn't enjoy the process.

The prisoner was led into the punishment cell, her steps faltering as the collar around her neck tightened slightly with each tug from the guard’s hand. A striking brunette with a sculpted, statuesque frame, she bore faint traces of Eastern lineage around her almond-shaped eyes, adding an alluring mystery to her sharp, defiant gaze. Her body was secured in the whipping frame, her arms and legs bound firmly into the manacles which stretched her taut and offered protection from what was to come. The platform slowly rotated, showing off her body to the Arbiters.

Moments later, a figure emerged from another door. It was a woman, masked and hooded, wrapped in gleaming leather that hugged every muscle, every line of her athletic figure.

The executioner stepped forward, her gloved hand reaching into her belt to produce the long, blacksnake whip, letting its supple length unfurl like a dark ribbon in her grasp. With slow, deliberate movements, she held it up, allowing the prisoner to see every inch of the unyielding leather, her eyes tracing it with equal parts fear and resignation as the cell fell silent.

An official voice echoed through the chamber, cold and detached:

"Prisoner 14738, Luna Sen, you stand guilty of petty crimes against the state. You are hereby sentenced to receive thirty lashes, after which you will be transferred to State Sexual Services. If the court official is ready to inflict the prescribed corporal punishment, you may begin."

The executioner took her position, the long blacksnake whip coiled in her gloved hand, poised and silent. Caroline drained her wine, sliding the sheets aside as she reached for the vibrator, positioning it with practiced anticipation. On the screen, red numbers began their countdown from ten, and Caroline wetted her lips, her pulse quickening. She watched the prisoner tense in her bonds, body rigid, bracing for what was to come. She seemed to be praying.

ONE

The first strike landed, and the prisoner’s face twisted—her full lips parted in a silent gasp, eyes squeezed shut, lashes wet with the first hints of tears. Her features, previously composed and defiant, softened with raw pain, brows knitting together as crack of the whip echoed through the cell. The executioner stood several paces back, wielding the long whip with precision, her arm extending gracefully to let the leather coil snap through the air, landing it with practiced cruelty from a perfect distance.

Caroline turned on the vibrator, her body tensing at the first hum against her skin, eyes glued to the screen. She bit her lip, leaning back into the sheets, her breath coming faster as she watched the prisoner’s body shudder and strain with each strike, captivated by the silent, helpless expressions that told her everything.

The whip moved like a living thing, coiling and snapping with a fluid, terrifying grace. Its dark length cut through the air in perfect, arcing strikes, each landing with a force that sent tremors across the prisoner’s exposed back, leaving red welts that bled slowly, trickling down the curves of her pert buttocks. Caroline’s breath quickened, gasping with each crack, her hand gripping the vibrator tighter as the count reached ten, heat flooding her senses with every lash. She wasn’t sure either of them would endure this to twenty, let alone thirty. By the end, Caroline knew she’d be left drenched in sweat, haunted by the exquisite, agonizing pleasure she could barely stand.

A banner ran along the bottom of the screen, in a long ticker-tape display:

Historical Note:

The blacksnake whip, a staple of early 20th-century penal practices, was commonly used in Southern U.S. prisons, including Alabama, up until the late 1920s. Typically, sentences ranged from 10 to 30 lashes, as higher counts risked severe injury or death. When prisoners were subjected to 40 or 50 lashes, the physical toll was extreme—deep tissue damage, lasting scars, and frequently death. Such punishments ultimately faced public outcry, leading to their abolition as reforms swept through the prison system.

And the New World Order had brought them back, she thought, biting her lip trying to hold her orgasm back until the last blows. The executioner paused, letting the tension simmer as she held the prisoner suspended in anticipation of the final five strokes. With a practiced grip, she reached forward, tangling her gloved fingers in Luna’s dark hair, pulling her head back until her face was fully exposed to the glaring light. Her lips parted, trembling somewhere between agony and a twisted, guilty pleasure that shone in her glazed eyes. Luna’s bare chest rose and fell, beads of sweat glistening along her heaving breasts, her entire body drawn tight.

With a smirk, the executioner lowered the whip, sliding its leather handle slowly between Luna’s thighs, her disdainful eyes narrowing as she saw dampness there. She raised the whip, wet and glistening, a sneer curled across her lips.

From her bed, Caroline watched breathlessly. Her own skin flushed, her chest heaving with every pulse of desire. Her hips pressed into the bed, the vibrator thrumming against her clit, tension mounting to an exquisite peak. Just as the executioner delivered the final five blistering strokes - each one harder, sharper, cutting through the prisoner’s already raw skin - Caroline’s back arched, her body spasming as a fierce climax crashed over her. She fell back onto the rumpled silk, sweat and desire soaking through the sheets as she lay panting, the image of Luna’s tortured, blissful face seared into her mind.

Caroline slipped out of bed, wrapping herself in a deep crimson silk gown that clung and flowed around her. She stepped onto her balcony. Beneath her stretched the tamed Amazon, winding serenely through the heart of the great glass dome that arched like a massive jewel over the landscape. Towering trees reached up to brush the inner shell, their ancient branches hung with blooms so vividly bright they looked like fragments of a forgotten paradise. Wild orchids and massive ferns thrived in the mist. The air was thick with the rich, primal scents of damp earth, sweet jasmine, and faint, smoky vetiver, The mixture was both heady and invigorating.

That had been a fucking good beating.

She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, savouring the cool, earthy perfume, her skin still tingling with the aftershocks of her pleasure. She smoked it down to the filter in no time at all. The faint ache between her thighs left her both content and stirred, the thrill of satisfaction merging with a lingering excitement. She found the champagne bottle and poured another glass. she watched the light play across the Amazon’s surface, her lips curling into a private smile as she let the last traces of tension dissolve into the humid night.

Caroline drifted back to her bed, sinking into the silk sheets with a satisfied sigh, stretching her legs out luxuriously as she reached for another cigarette.

A soft chime echoed from the screen, attracting her attention. A new message flashed in crisp red letters:

Congratulations, Adjudicator 742: Caroline Ross. You have now passed your first milestone of one hundred verified punishments witnessed. This qualifies you for access to Tier II State Executions.

Oh my, she whispered to herself, excited, but a little alarmed with it. She had not witnessed executions, just judicial floggings. And Tier II were rumoured to be brutal, unfiltered - too much for many Arbiters. But the allure was too strong. With a deep breath, she pressed the OK button.

The screen shifted, bringing up a new display. Black, edged with red.

Available Tier II Executions:

Her lips parted in faint interest as she scanned the profiles, each detailing the fate of those scheduled for elimination in tonight’s display. She lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply hands shaking with excitement.

Prisoner One: Rina Delgado, age 21. An exquisite brunette with piercing green eyes, Rina is known for her rebellious streak and should provide good entertainment. Her punishment will involve a specialized plastic spray, designed to coat her skin in thin, constrictive layers. Over several hours, the plastic will harden around her body, tightening with each breath, and eventually squeezing hard enough to crush her ribs and puncture her lungs. The spray will also cover her genitals and inner thighs in a way that will stimulate and then exquisitely compress them. Death is calculated to occur within 6-8 hours as her body succumbs to slow suffocation and the loss of circulation.

Prisoner Two: Tomasz Zielinski, age 29. A former gang member with a muscular build and a cocky smile, Tomasz will face a particularly sadistic technique involving micro-stimulation needles inserted across his lower abdomen and groin. These needles are rigged to deliver both numbing agents and high-frequency shocks, alternating between dulled sensitivity and agonizing pulses aimed at his genitals. Estimated time to death: approximately 10 hours, as his body will be carefully kept alive and aware, the pain building until his system collapses from shock and exhaustion.

Prisoner Three: Alisha Kaur, age 22. A striking beauty with dark hair. Alisha’s punishment is going to be both unique and excruciating. Fire ants - tiny, amazonian creatures - will be introduced gradually into her vaginal cavity, their pheromones stimulating them to bite repeatedly. Each bite will create a searing pain, increasing as the ants spread out within her vagina and womb, a torment set to last up to 12 hours as she is eaten alive from the inside.

Prisoner Four: Nikolas Voss, age 34. A tall, intense man with piercing blue eyes and a lean, sinewy frame, Nikolas has evaded capture for years before finally being brought in. His execution will involve involved gradual acid application, starting with diluted drops to his chest, abdomen, and inner thighs, building over time to concentrated acid applied to his groin. Estimated to last 8-10 hours, the acid would eat away at his flesh slowly, ensuring prolonged suffering and ending in systemic collapse. But it will be a rare opportunity to witness castration by acid.

Caroline lingered over each condemned prisoner, cigarette smoke curling around her. She wondered what would be more interesting – watching a woman’s cunt be devoured by insects? Or a man’s cock be dissolved by acid?

It was good to be rich and powerful in the New World Order.

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