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Chapter 3: Trial
She could hardly breathe by the time they reached a door marked “Office.” O God, she thought! This is where I get gang raped! They've probably been inviting all their friends to come get a piece of their new little blonde prisoner with the big boobs! Well, all right; medium sized boobs. But nice ones.
The Matron opened the door and Caitlyn was ushered in on rubbery legs. What she saw didn't look at all like the setting for a sleazy rape scene. There were the same four guys who had ogled her in the shower room, plus two more, one of them the Casino manager. They were all sitting behind a long teakwood desk ogling her again, and obviously pleased with what they saw. The tall man with the sleepy eyes sat in the middle dressed in a black robe and wearing an absurd white wig. He was holding a gavel which he struck three times on the desk. What she did not see was Kevin and any hope of a happy ending to this “trial.”
One of the two new strange men intoned pontifically, “This court is now in session, the honorable Magistrate Clifford Mbona presiding. The accused will stand in the dock and will respond to all questions, addressing the Magistrate as ‘Your Grace'.”
Caitlyn was escorted to a four-by-four patch of wooden flooring resting atop the ubiquitous cement directly in front of the robed, sad-eyed man who was tall even seated in his place. The dock was fenced in on three sides by a low wooden railing. The two guards stood just behind and to each side of her. She was trembling both in suppressed anger and a feeling of helpless fear, but tried not to show it.
“Are you Caitlyn West of Cincinnati, Ohio, United States of America?” he asked, reading off some papers in front of him.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“And were you lodged in the so-called honeymoon suite of the Princess Xarnia Luxury Casino Resort and Health Spa as of last Saturday?”
“Yes, Your Grace, along with . . .”
“And did you gamble in the Casino associated with that resort, Ms West?”
“Yes, Your Grace, but I . . .”
“And did you run up a debt you could not repay?”
“That's not right! I would have paid it if . . .AAAAH!” She leaped to the left, collided with the railing and crumpled to the floor clutching her right buttock and squirming in pain and issuing little yips. “Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah . . .” After several entertaining seconds, the two guards lifted her to her feet and planted her in the center of the dock again, facing the Magistrate. She hunched down, rubbing her bottom and whimpering.
“You must answer with yes or no , Ms West, unless I ask for a detailed answer. Any further outbursts from you will result in a much harsher use of the cattle prod. Is that clearly understood, Ms West?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she sniffled.
“Then I will ask you again. Did you run up a gambling debt to the Casino that you could not pay, Ms West? Yes or no.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she replied, biting her tongue and keeping an eye on the prod for any threatening moves in her direction.
“Mr. Combstock, you are the manager of the Princess Xarnia Luxury Resort and Health Spa's Casino, are you not?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said the man at the far end of the table who had started this horrible ball rolling.
“And you are the one who filed the complaint against the accused, is that correct?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
This is outrageous! Caitlyn was thinking. She's forced to stand here with her pussy showing, in handcuffs and without a lawyer while her accuser sits on the bench with the judge! What kind of trial is this?!
“Would you kindly inform the court of the circumstances and extent of Ms West's indebtedness to the casino.”
“Certainly, Your Grace. Ms West arrived in the Casino Saturday night and began the evening by working the mid-level slot machines. She won one hundred twenty . . .”
“Yes, yes. You've documented all her winnings and losings very thoroughly right here.” The Magistrate waved a sheaf of papers over his head. “Just get to the bottom line, Mr. Combstock. Why is she here? What is your compliant?”
“We all know why she's here,” the manager sniggered.
“None of that!” snapped the Magistrate. “I've told you before, these matters must be carried out formally, legally and with decorum. Now, state your complaint.”
“Very well, Your Grace. By closing time Thursday morning Ms West had run up a gambling tab of four thousand, three hundred and sixty dollars, U.S. and attempted to pay it off with a worthless credit card.”
Caitlyn nearly screamed an objection, but she'd had quite enough of that cattle prod.
“Worthless, Mr. Combstock?” said the Magistrate.
“It was overdrawn, Your Grace.”
“That's what I thought. There's no point in impugning the character of the Accused beyond her actual crime.” He lifted a document to where the manager could see it. “Is this the official notification from her credit card company of insufficient funds?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Is this your account, Ms West?” He handed it to one of the guards who showed it to Caitlyn.
“Yes, Your Grace.” She wanted to say more but clamped her mouth shut.
“Very well. I'm ready to issue my verdict. I find the accused, Caitlyn West, guilty as charged. To wit, failure to pay her casino gambling debt in a timely manner as is required by law for a foreign national. I'm now ready to pronounce sentence. Are you ready to receive it, Ms. West?”
“Your Grace, Sir,” Caitlyn whispered, glancing nervously at the prod, “may I be allowed to defend myself, Sir? Your Grace.”
“No. There is no need. The evidence is absolutely clear and I have already issued the verdict. You may hear your sentence now, or you may return to your cell for a few minutes so these gentlemen can bring you to your senses. Which shall it be? Are you ready?”
She swallowed. Surely there must be some way to appeal this later. She certainly was not about to argue her case with a cattle prod. “I'm ready, Your Grace.”
“The penalty for this crime is mandatory. I therefore sentence you, Caitlyn West, to be taken to the Dispatch Center at once, there to be put to death in the manner prescribed by the laws of Paradise Island; after which your carcass is to be cooked in accordance with your stated preference — which is to say . . .” (he consulted his papers) “. . . roasted — and served tonight at the Luana Beach Bi-Weekly Festival. This court is adjourned.” He slammed the gavel down hard and all the men at the desk rose as one.
Caitlyn swayed, the world swirling out of control. The two guards, ready for it, grabbed her arms and carried her to a waiting chair. The Matron was right there with a helpful dose of smelling salts to buck her up.
“Now, now, my dear,” she soothed, “it won't be all that bad. You'll see.”
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