Originally published in Hogtie, vol 6, no.  12

The judge glanced slowly over the panel, fixing each member in his gaze.

"May I remind the jury that this trial is now in its eighth week?   And while economic constraints do not supersede the importance of  justice, I think the taxpayers of this district expect that every  reasonable effort be made to reach a verdict in this case."

The judge's demeanor was stern as he reminded the panel of their  responsibility to the court and to the public whom they represented.   The jury members remained silent as they listened, but more than a few  turned their heads to stare at the "problem juror", whose face was  scrunched up in a defiant pout as she sat with her hands folded neatly  in her lap.

After having spent nearly two months listening to testimony, a  consensus had quickly been reached by the other eleven members of the  panel, regarding not one, but two matters.  First, they were all agreed  that the defendant, a young woman accused of operating a prostitution  ring, was as guilty as sin.  Second, and most vehemently, they believed  that juror number twelve, the holdout juror, ought to be tossed in a  jail cell herself.

Following the judge's instructions, the jurors filed silently back to  the jury room.  Each took his or her seat, just as they had for the  past two weeks, but no one spoke.  The eyes of the majority turned, with  grim resolve, toward Christi Chandler, who seemed to anticipate the  question which had grown routine:

"NOT GUILTY" she said.

The jury forewoman was a slightly heavyset, middle-aged matron, whose  somewhat stern demeanor had allowed the deliberations to proceed  smoothly in most other regards.  She sighed audibly as she listened to  Christi's predictable response, and seemed to be composing herself  before she began to speak to the renegade juror in slow and measured  tones.

"Christi," she began, "you heard the judge and I think... no, not just think, firmly believe, that in the face of overwhelming evidence, you might wish to  finally listen to the voice of reason.  You're familiar with the  overwhelming evidence that was presented.  Perhaps you'd like to  reexamine your position and let us all go home."

Christi stared straight ahead as she was addressed, hardly  acknowledging anyone in the room.  Then, she repeated the contrary  argument that each and every other member of the jury knew as well as  her, by now.

"It's not the defendant's fault.  It's the men.  If they weren't  asking for sex all of the time, things like this would never happen.   You should haul them in front of a jury.  It's never the woman's fault."

"Christi," the forewoman offered, "the defendant advertised in the paper for heaven's sake.  And she practically admitted her crimes from the  witness stand when she told us her sole source of income were the  'gifts' of male friends."

"Quite a number of 'friends', enjoined another juror, a robust  looking man in his late thirties.  "More friends than you've got on this  jury, that's for sure!"

The rest of the panelists looked to Christi for a response, but none  was forthcoming.  Finally, seeing that no further deliberation seemed  likely to succeed for the time being, the forewoman spoke again:

"All right," she sighed, "seeing as how progress seems unlikely this  afternoon, let's summon the bailiff and tell him we're ready to return  to our 'home away from home'."

The weariness of her fellow panelists was evident in each face, as no  one, not even Christi, protested the decision to end the day's  deliberations and return to the hotel rooms which they had been  occupying every evening for two weeks, since the judge had sequestered  the jury.  As the bailiff held the door to the chamber, each filed out  as silently and morosely as they had entered, resigned to yet another  night of mandated confinement.

Once they had returned to the hotel, Christi immediately went off to  her room, while the rest of the jurors began to become more talkative,  mainly with regard to this young woman who was keeping them all in  service well beyond any reasonable necessity.  They wished the judge had  decreed a hung jury and sent them home, however frustrating that might  have been.  However, the overwhelming resentment fell upon Christi, for  whom no one could find a kind word.

"I don't know what her problem is," said one, hardly needing to identify the person to whom she was referring, by name.

"She acts like she's Eve, pretending it was all the snake's fault!" offered another.

"I don't know about any of you, but I'm sick and tired of her obstinance," said a third.

Soon, all eleven had weighed in on the topic of Christi, the Bad  Juror.  It was obvious to all that something had to be done, but no one  was bold enough to make a suggestion until, at long last, the forewoman  spoke.

"I've been thinking this over," she began, "as I'm sure all of you  have.  In spite of the judge's order to settle this in the jury room, I  have my doubts as to whether or not this young woman will ever listen to  the voice of reason.  That's why I think we have to convene our own  special jury, right here, tonight."

No one spoke at first.  It was as if each was contemplating the  gravity of their forewoman's words.  Then, in rapid succession, each  disgruntled juror replied:

"A second trial, with eleven reasonable jurors, that's what we need!" offered the first.

"And I don't think we'll have any difficulty reaching a verdict, either," said another.

Each statement reaffirmed the wisdom of the forewoman's decision.   Finally, it was clear that this extraordinary situation demanded an  equally extreme solution.  Plans were made and assignments made.  The  panel agreed to convene again, following dinner, and put the plan into  action.

Following a simple dinner in a hotel meeting room, at which hardly a  word was spoken, especially to the still pouting Christi, the jurors  rose to return to their rooms.  Not a hint was given as to their plan,  but if Christi was wary, she gave no indication.  She did not appear to  be concerned when two of the male jurors stepped into the elevator with  her, to return to the floor on which the jury was sequestered.  But her  demeanor changed quickly as the hand of one of the men suddenly thrust  in front of her and struck the emergency stop button of the elevator  control panel.

"What on earth are you doing!" she shrieked, but neither of the men  replied.  Instead, one seized Christi roughly by the wrists, pulling  them behind the startled girl and holding them in place while fastening a  pair of handcuffs on her delicate wrists.

"Got these from the bailiff," he explained.  "He didn't ask me what they were for, but I think he knew and I think he approved."

"You can't do this," Christi protested.

"Nonsense," said the second man, "It's already done, except for one  more little thing." Reaching into his back pocket, he produced a thick  cotton sweat sock and a long scarf, donated by one of his female  colleagues.

"This is the only way we can make sure you don't say anything else  that's stupid" he said, as he stuffed the sock into the startled young  woman's mouth and secured it with the scarf, knotting it tightly behind  Christi's long blond hair.  Releasing the emergency stop button, the  strange trio of jurors soon arrived at their floor.  With a nod of  agreement between them, the younger and taller of the two turned to  Christi and bent to place his arms around the slender thighs of their  captive.  In an instant, Christi was slung over his wide shoulder, in a  fireman's carry.  The rest of the jury was already present as the two  men arrived in the unofficially designated courtroom, bearing their  struggling, squirming prisoner.

The jury forewoman, who had been designated the judge at this clandestine court, began:

"Ah, good.  I see that court is about to convene.  You may bring the defendant immediately to the witness stand.

"The court is aware that this witness has been identified as  hostile.  Therefore, I suggest that you make use of the restraints that  have been provided.

Christi stared in horror at the solid oak chair which had been placed  near the center of the hotel room.  On the floor, adjacent to the  sturdy chair, several lengths of rope had been placed.  It was  immediately clear to Christi what was in store for her and she tried  mightily to avoid her fate.  But no amount of struggling prevented the  men from roughly forcing her into place, while two of the female jurors  used the rope to secure Christi's arms and legs.  Seeing, at last, that  her struggles could come to no avail, Christi finally calmed herself  enough to stop fidgeting and stare straight ahead.  Now, the  forewoman/judge addressed her.

"Young lady, we've been locked in an eleven to one contest with you  for as long as we're willing to put up with.  This special court demands  a verdict, and we intend to have it before the night is over.

"Although it should hardly be necessary at this point, I am going to  read the record of evidence to you once again, to see if after all this  time, you are finally prepared to listen and make up your mind  intelligently."

And so, the forewoman began to detail, yet again, the evidence  presented against the woman accused of prostitution; the secret  videotapes, the recorded phone conversations, the testimony of police  informants.  When, at last, the exhaustive survey of criminal activity  had been completed, the forewoman placed the court records back on the  long flat dresser, which was serving as the judge's bench.  She sat  back, her arms folded against her ample chest, and indicated to the  juror/bailiff that Christi's gag should be removed.  As the sopping wet  sock was pulled from her mouth, the blond practically spat in  indignation, but she did not speak.

"Christi," the forewoman began, "we've given you every possibility to  exercise your duty responsibly.  Now, we've even gone to the extra  bother of reading you a transcript with which we are, every one of us,  already too familiar.  I'm going to poll the jury once more and, I hope,  you will finally have come to a sensible conclusion."

One by one, the jurors once again pronounced the verdict of guilty  until the forewoman turned, as she had so many times, to the beautiful  holdout and awaited her reply.  "Not guilty," Christi fumed, more  obstinately than ever.

"Not guilty, not guilty, NOT GUILTY!"

A spontaneous roar of frustration and anger erupted from Christi's  fellow jurors as she defied them again.  It was a moment before the  forewoman could calm the group sufficiently for the proceedings to  continue, this time in a different manner.

"Very well, Christi," she began.  "Speaking, I think for all of us, I  can hardly say that I'm surprised.  That's why we all agreed in advance  to a penalty phase to these proceedings, if you still weren't prepared  to behave responsibly."

The forewoman took a moment to look around the room to see if anyone  had weakened in their resolve.  Finally, she asked for a show of hands  and watched as everyone in the room, excluding the captive Christi,  raised their hands in affirmation.

"All right.  That's it.  Re-gag her."

As ordered, the sock was stuffed back into Christi's mouth as she  mmphed and growled at the outrage.  But, had Christi known what was in  store for her next, she might have considered abandoning her position.   Because what happened next, was more than the stubborn blonde had  counted on.

At first, there seemed to be nothing to be alarmed about.  The men  who had tied her to the chair in the first place were already busy  undoing the knots which held her in place.  Even the handcuffs were  removed, as Christi was hauled to her feet.

But now, Christi began to sweat a little, as she was guided onto the top of the long dresser.  Now, the "judge" spoke again.

"The French Legionnaires developed a special technique for dealing with recalcitrants.  The word is craupadine*.  You might be more familiar with the term hogtie, however."

Christi practically managed a gasp through her gag as she heard what  was in store for her, but she hadn't heard everything yet, or her shock  would have been even greater.  Meanwhile, she had been forcefully placed  atop the dresser, and the men began, once more, to place her in  bondage, as directed by the knowledgeable forewoman.  Christi's wrists  and ankles were bound first, to guard against any escape attempts.  When  her long limbs had been satisfactorily restrained, a short additional  rope was added, running from the blonde's wrists, secured behind her  back, to her ankles and pulling her into the shape of a bow as she lay  on her tummy, across the cold, hard surface of the dresser.  Still, the  look of defiance had not left her furious blue eyes.  She began to  protest, as much as the wadding in her mouth would allow, until a sharp  slap across the right cheek of her ass caused her to fall silent.

"Are you ready for your punishment?" the forewoman began.  "In order  for this to be worthwhile, we've all agreed that we would need a  foolproof method of assuring your compliance, as a result of the  procedure which you're about to endure.

Punishment!  What is it I'm going to have to endure? Christi wondered.  She didn't have long to wait for her answer.  From a  plain brown bag that had been resting next to the dresser, the  forewoman removed the apparatus designed to persuade Christi to change  her vote, at last.  With her eyes opened wide in fear and anxiety,  Christi watched as the forewoman withdrew a bright red enema bag, to  which was affixed a large, painful looking nozzle.

Christi nearly managed to squirm off of the table at the sight of the  gear and with the anticipation of its impending application to her  virgin rectum.  She mmmphed and writhed furiously as she felt one of the  men lift her skirt while another grabbed the waistband of her panties  and pulled them swiftly to her knees.

"I'll need some help," the forewoman declared, and quickly went about  delivering orders with the confidence of a field general.  Four jurors  were assigned to hold Christi at each of her limbs, thereby insuring  stability.  One woman was given the enema bag and dispatched to the  bathroom to fill it "with very hot, soapy water… all the way to the  brim."

No, this can't be happening, thought Christi,  even as she felt a pair of rough hands grasp the cheeks of her ass and  draw them apart to expose her dusky gray anus.  OK, OK, I'll change my vote, she tried to say, but her gag prevented the articulation of her  suddenly revised opinion.  Now, she began to whimper as she felt  something wet and cold falling on her shamefully exposed rosebud and  dripping into the secret folds of her pussy.  No sooner had Christi  begun to adjust to this shock than she felt a long thin finger begin to  lazily smear hand cream around Christi's outraged asshole, finally  easing itself into the dark confines of her tight rectum.  To Christi's  profound embarrassment, this treatment continued for quite a while, even  after the humiliated girl had turned her head enough to see that it was  the matronly forewoman whose digit was preparing Christi for her  ordeal.

Finally, the finger was withdrawn, to Christi's considerable relief.   But now, she realized, the worst part was about to begin.  Turning her  face away from the many eyes which gazed in satisfaction at her  predicament, Christi began to quietly sob as she felt the head of the  nozzle press up against her orifice.

"We're just going to clean up your act a little," the forewoman  offered with a sly smirk.  We'll see if you still want to vote 'not  guilty' when there's a quart of hot soapy water up that cute little butt  of yours."

Without further warning, the forewoman shoved the bulbous nozzle deep  into the Christi's tender ass, as the chastised blonde practically  screamed, despite her gag.  Christi felt the burning pain penetrate her  rectum, until she felt as though a hot poker, not a simple plastic  nozzle, had been thrust up her backside.

The hapless girl had scarcely begun to adjust to the intruder when  she saw her tormentor reach for the valve which held back the punishing  stream of liquid.  There was a long pause, followed by the sudden shock  of the hot water as it coursed down the long rubber tube and began its  tortuous journey into Christi's bowels.  Almost at once she felt as if  its containment was impossible, but there was nothing to be done.   Christi struggled in vain, tugging at her bonds and against the hands  that held her firmly to the table.

I give, I give, she tried to scream.  Oh, why  won't they let met speak now?  Christi cried, as the water forced its  way past her clutching muscles, swelling her belly until she thought she  might burst.  Still, the hot water continued its flow.

At last, the forewoman, seeing Christi's obvious distress, signaled  for the sobbing girl's gag to be removed.  Christi began to plead  immediately.

"Oh please, please, take it out!  I can't hold any more.  It hurts, it hurts so bad, please, please!"

"So, what verdict do you render, now, Christi?" the forewoman  inquired, all the while grinning from ear to ear, as were the other  members of the jury, whose frustration was finally dissipating even as  the last of the soapy water disappeared up Christi's behind.

"Guilty, GUILTY!" Christi cried, "Please, let me go now!"

"Much better, Christi," the forewoman pronounced and turned once  again to her assistant.  "Go ahead and put the plug in Christi's anus.   We'll see if her verdict holds 'til morning.