Soc Sexuality Spanking

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Soc Sexuality Spanking
Story: Timmy's Unpleasant Encounter of the Mechanical Kind (spank, nc, severe, machine/b)
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On Sun, 12 Dec 1999 12:58:01 -0800 (PST), Nialos Leaning
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Copyright 1999 by Nialos Leaning, all rights reserved. Permission for noncommercial free (no charge) electronic distribution and personal use reproduction of this story is hereby granted. All such distribution, re-posting and reproduction must be without alteration of this story in any way, must include this entire copyright notice, and must in their entireties retain the following statements:
This story is intended for ADULTS ONLY. It depicts a preteen boy being spanked and otherwise disciplined by machines in a government operated walk-in punishment center.
If you are not of a legal age in your locality to view such material or if such material does not appeal to you, do not read further, and do not save this story.
"This story is pure fantasy, written for the enjoyment of adults. Behavior depicted in this story may in real life be illegal or considered by society to be abusive, harmful, unacceptable or undesirable. The author neither advocates, condones nor personally engages in any such behavior."
"This story, as is all fiction, is fantasy and not reality. The author does recognize the difference between the two. Please do understand that some of us, including the author, enjoy such fantasy material."
"Compliments and constructive criticism are always welcome."
This story is dedicated to Millard, whose FutureSpank stories inspired me to once more try my hand at a spanking machine tale.
In a much altered form, the concepts of punishment levels, video monitors, and penalties used in this story are all derived from the FutureSpank stories.
The characters, settings, situations and overall plot of this story are all vastly different than those of the FutureSpank stories. Any similarities, other than taking place in government run centers utilizing spanking machines, are purely coincidental and unintentional.
Not one sentence of Millard's prose is knowingly incorporated into this story, either as originally written by him or in any modified form.
I thank Millard for the inspiration and hope he keeps up his good work.
Timmy's Unpleasant Encounter of the Mechanical Kind by Nialos Leaning
"Timothy Crawford, report to booth A in Spankatorium 3," announced a very pleasant female voice.
Nervously and ever so slowly, twelve-year-old Timmy stood up.
"It's show time, kiddo," announced his mother.
"Great!" gloated Jennifer, his eleven-year-old sister and part cause of his current predicament.
"Goody, goody," giggled his pesky younger brother Nicholas, age nine, the other source of his immediate problem.
Turning to the right, his eyes flickered off the three large video monitors at the front of the waiting room. Monitors showing the damage that the dreaded spanking machines, one in each spankatorium, were doing to the bare behinds of other kids. Kids just like him, some of whom he knew from school. A school where, unlike parents and teachers, none of the kids were happy about this newly built Juvenile Punishment Center.
Making his hesitant way toward the doors of his unwanted fate, Timmy's glance caught the array of monitors for the sixteen turntables in Spankatorium 3. Most of the slowly rotating tables were occupied by kids, some with red bottoms, some without. Seeing his name, his eyes focused on the small computer screen next to the monitor for empty turntable 8. A computer screen that now listed his punishment sequence. A listing that quite literally froze him in his tracks.
His mom had sentenced him to a bare bottom level four "standard" spanking, to be followed by twenty-four hours of remaining bare below the waist. But the screen indicated that he was to receive a completely naked level 5 spanking, with afterwards forty-eight hours without any clothes or other coverings. Obviously, the computer had recommended that based on his latest misbehavior and his past history as inputted by his parents, he deserved this higher severity of punishment. A recommendation that, since it was listed, his mom must have had agreed with.
Why, oh why, had he fought with Jenny, getting in a few good wallops, much harder than her weakling girl punches. Why had he been so mean to that squirt Nick, refusing to let him have any computer time, hogging it all for himself? And, why had he been so intent on smart mouthing mom when she intervened on their behalf?
Timmy was scared, very scared. This was the first time for any of the Crawfords at the Jacobs Avenue JPC, or any other JPC for that matter. Not surprising, as Jacobs Avenue had only been open for a little over two weeks, and it was only five months ago that the very first JPC in the country had began blistering bare behinds of misbehaving youngsters ages six to fifteen. His siblings were happy to be here, he wasn't. But than, they were here to see the show, he was part of the show!
"Booth 3-A, two minutes and forty seconds remaining," the gentle female voice intoned, bringing the entranced Timmy out of his daze. He now noticed that on "his" screen next to his first punishment item of "completely naked" a timer was counting down, second by second. It now read "02:36." He remembered the officer at the registration desk saying that to avoid a penalty, he had three minutes from when he was called to a preparation booth to being in the state of undress specified for his punishment.
"Holy shit," he muttered to himself, quickly moving toward the doorway. He hoped no one had overheard his expletive language, he just couldn't help himself.
With much trepidation and very little bravery, Timmy entered Spankatorium 3 just as the female voice informed the waiting room, "Booth 3-A, two minutes and twenty seconds remaining."
Timmy felt as if all of the nearly hundred pairs of eyes in the almost full theater were staring at him as he made his way to the "prep" booth in the left rear corner. Why did the government have to sell tickets to this "show," wondered the flustered boy. In actuality, many in the audience were much more interested in what was currently going on center stage, where the spanker was doing a wicked number on a loudly screaming and very naked fourteen-year-old girl. Others were concentrating their stares on the naked and bare bottomed children stationed on the turntables scattered about the u-shaped stage.
Not a single child was making the least effort to cover their exposed privates. Timmy knew why. They had been told at a school assembly that trying to "cover up" would mean having their hands tied behind their backs and a much more severe spanking.
Just as he entered the glass booth, Timmy noticed that the bare bottomed little boy of about seven leaving the booth in the other corner had an obvious erection. This only heightened his anxiety as it reminded him that he popped a boner each and every time he got nude. It was as it his penis, once set free, just had to stretch to its full three inches of glory in order to better enjoy all that air and light.
Silently sliding closed, the booth door locked behind him. "Timothy Crawford, welcome to booth 3-A," said the female voice, still pleasant but somehow authoritarian at the same time. "Please remove all your clothes except for shoes and socks. Place your removed items in the open locker in front of you."
"Yes, ma'am," Timmy felt compelled to respond, yet feeling foolish in answering a computerized synthesized voice.
As he stripped down, a digital clock ticked off his remaining time. Every ten seconds, the voice also enunciated the time he had left. With fifteen seconds to go, only his white jockey briefs were protecting his modesty. He once more froze, he just couldn't take them off, his dick was already hard! At the ten second mark, the voice started a countdown, "Ten, nine, eight..." Still, the boy kept his hands from his waistband, breathing hard, and getting even harder below, perhaps from fear.
"Three, two, one, time," said the voice, immediately following with an emphatic "Penalty!" Timmy moved his trembling hands to his underpants. "Session increased one level, to level six. Additional penalty for every ten seconds not ready, ten, nine, eight..." The distressed Timmy couldn't quite bring himself to remove his last small piece of clothing despite the severity of the penalty. Now instead of his strokes being five times his age, equally split between a small paddle and a tawse, they would be six times, similarly split. It also meant that he would now be spending sixty minutes, a whole hour, on the turntable, both before and then again after his spanking, rather than fifty.
He hadn't even known that there was a level six. In school they had been told the highest level the person sentencing you could assign was five. Didn't the dumb computer know that? Oh, yeah, that was right, he now remembered. As a penalty, one of the things the computer could do is increase levels. And because it was a penalty, the new level didn't need approval of the original sentencer. "Three, two, one, penalty!" informed the now dreaded voice. "Eight extra strokes, with the cane. Ten, nine, eight..." This terrifying pronouncement propelled Timmy to action. Ever so slowly, he inched his briefs off. Unfortunately for him, he didn't quite have them off when the next ten second interval elapsed. "Penalty! Twenty-four additional hours naked time, for a total of seventy-two hours."
Before time again expired, Timmy had his underpants in the locker. As soon as his hand cleared, the locker door hissed shut, locking with an audible click. He knew from what had been explained in assembly, that since he had naked time, his clothes would be mailed home to his parents.
"Timothy Crawford," came the now hated voice, "you have thirty seconds to be on turntable eight." The booth door slid open. "Counting down, starting now."
Timmy, desperately not wanting any more penalties, rapidly made his way up the steps onto the left hand wing of the stage. Turntable eight, with a blue light flashing overhead, was halfway down the stage. Timmy stepped onto the three foot diameter device as the digital display overhead showed four seconds left. Immediately as he was on, the blue light shut off, a spotlight lit up him and the table, and he began turning. The digital display above, as well as one embedded in the table, began counting off the boy's show off time. The overhead display, unseen by Timmy, also listed his name, age, and the fact that he was to receive a level six standard session.
Red faced, Timmy was acutely aware of his hard little penis jutting outward and slightly upward from his still absolutely hairless pubic area. Here he was, naked as a jaybird, standing on a rotating circle, showing off his boner to the entire audience. Which included his family, whom had taken seats in the spankatorium.
"Hey, Timmy little man, how's it hanging?" said a giggling young girl standing only inches from the front of the stage, eyes almost level with his crotch. Two other giggling girls were with her. "Or, should I say, pointing?"
Timmy flushed even more furiously at this latest embarrassment. The situation made worse since he knew these three from his seventh grade class. The three bitches from hell, as the boys called them behind their backs, always tormenting and belittling their male classmates.
"Told you," said the smirking one on the right, "we should had brought a magnifying glass. He doesn't have much there to see."
"Bet you his little brother Nick is bigger down there," said the one on the left. Giggling hysterically, the three girls resumed their stroll around the perimeter of the stage.
Timmy knew that the parting comment was not true, he was a little bigger than Nick, not by much, but still, a little. But he also knew that at twelve years and four months he was still very much a little boy in the male parts department. Matter of fact, being a little small for his age, more like an almost eleven-year-old, he was pretty much a little boy everywhere. Which thought did brighten him momentarily, remembering that the machine adjusted the severity of its hits not only by age, but also by size and weight.
For the first half-hour, his penis occasionally went down instead of up, lessening his embarrassment for short periods of time. But not at all during the last half-hour. For that entire time, a naked twelve-year-old girl was stationed on the turntable to his right. A very pretty, very cute girl, with small jutting breasts and a light smattering of pubic hair over her vulva, through which her lips could just be seen. And to his right was an equally naked, equally pretty, equally cute thirteen-year-old girl. With somewhat larger breasts and a little thicker bush that hid what lay beyond.
As a result of those two beauties, his short stuff was doing its darnest not to be so short. He couldn't help it, he might be small for his age, and hairless, but he was, after all, almost a teenager!
Time moved much too slowly for Timmy. Kids took their places on the turntables. Kids visited the machine, their screams and sobs combining with the sounds of the spanks to orchestrate a strange concerto within the spankatorium. Kids left for home, some still naked, several with shirts but pantless, bare bottoms and privates clearly showing, but most dressed.
Time moved much too quickly for Timmy. Days before he was ready, the voice announced "Timothy Crawford, report to the spanker. You have thirty seconds from now." The voice launched into its now familiar countdown mode. "Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..."
His little boner leading the way, a crying Timmy went toward the evil machine. But not fast enough. He was just a step away when the voice proclaimed "one, time." Immediately followed by "Penalty! Session increased one level, to level seven."
Level seven! It wasn't fair, the adults could only go as high as five, but the JPC's shitty computer could keep going higher and higher. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't!
"Motherfucker!" screamed Timmy as he stepped over the line marking the outer boundary of the machine's area.
"Penalty!" declared the voice. "Use of profanity. Standard session changed to special session." A frantic Timmy was crying very hard now, and the first spank had not even yet fallen upon his bare bottom. A special session! The small paddle would now be replaced by a larger, thicker one, with numerous blister holes drilled throughout. The tawse would be replaced by a cat-of-nine, with all nine tails thicker than either of two on the tawse. And with now being at level seven, he would get forty-two doses of each. Plus his eight penalty cane strokes. He'd never be able to sit down again!
He couldn't help what he'd said, it just kind of came out. It was no big deal, almost all the boys in his class used words like that, especially when adults weren't around to hear. Just like in the movie "Stand by Me." But to the fucking stupid computer, it was a fucking big deal, and now he would pay. Stupid shitty computer!
"Approach the center yellow line," instructed the voice. Timmy shuffled to the line, located just before a padded bench-like contraption, about eighteen inches wide and three-and-a-half feet long.
"Raise your arms up straight, spread your legs apart." Timmy did as told. Before he realized what had happened, his wrists and ankles were shackled. By soft cuffs attached to adjustable rods projecting from sliding trolleys set in tracks. Overhead on a grid like structure, with multiple intersecting tracks crisscrossing each other. On the floor with a corresponding pattern, set flush with the stage surface. At the same time, the bench lowered itself a few inches into the floor, adjusting itself to the perfect height for accommodating the now panicking boy.
Suddenly, he was being bent over the bench to a perfect ninety degree angle. His arms were stretched forward and flat on the table. His own legs were pushed up against the bench's legs. A strap tightened itself across his back. He heard the cuff rods click, locking his arms and legs in place. On the video monitor in front of him, he could see just how ridiculous he looked, restrained to the bench, his bare behind pointed toward the eagerly watching audience. An audience including his brother and sister, his mom, and the three little bitches from hell.
Then his terror increased tenfold. The number 42 lit up in the upper right hand corner of the monitor, on which he saw the paddle slowly descending from above, at the end of a multiple hinged metal arm. To his frenzied eyes, the wooden implement looked impossibly large, with an impossible number of holes everywhere on its business end. An end that without warning made hard harsh contact with his end. The left cheek of his rear end, that is. The paddle was big enough to cover his entire cheek, with room left over.
The pain was incredible! He couldn't help but scream, as loudly as his lungs would permit. Five seconds later, the paddle slammed into his right cheek. Five seconds later, across both cheeks, bridging his crack. Over and over the pattern repeated itself, left, right, center. The pain and burning just kept getting worse and worse. His bottom turning redder and redder, with white blisters scattered about. His screams, howls, wails meshed into a horrible crescendo of an ear piercing banshee song, a mis-melody of anguished discord.
He couldn't help himself, he peed on the floor. "Penalty!" the voice boomed over the continuing spanking, sounding almost gleeful, "peeing on stage, twenty-four additional hours naked time, for a total of ninety-six hours." Timmy, of course, was in no position to protest. He was having enough trouble catching enough breath to issue forth his horrendous screechings.
After thirty-three horribly torturous smackings, the paddling ceased. From what his feverish tear streaked eyes could see on the monitor of the condition of his already well punished bottom, Timmy was fleetingly hopeful that the nasty machine was taking pity on him, showing him some mercy.
But alas for the poor boy, that was not to be. The bench titled upward slightly, the floor trolleys spread his legs even further apart, till he felt that if they went any further, he would split in two. From the monitor, his only partially functioning mind realized that the part of his buttocks where the sun never shined, even on a nude beach, not that he would be caught dead on one, was now exposed to one and all. Even his little hole, gaping wide open, was on display.
Oh, God! He realized that the machine was going to hit him in there, the only part of his bottom not a bright red, the only part not covered with blisters. A situation the machine promptly did its best to change. Mercilessly, emotionlessly, relentlessly, without any hesitation or lessening of force.
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