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Story: Timmy's Unpleasant Encounter of the Mechanical Kind (spank, nc, severe, machine/b)

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Nialos Leaning

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Dec 12, 1999, 3:00:00 AM12/12/99
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Story: Timmy's Unpleasant Encounter of the Mechanical Kind
(spank, nc, severe, machine/b)
by Nialos Leaning

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.

Turning the paddle sideways, the machine smashed into Timmy's
cleavage, obliquely striking the right cheek, then the left,
repeating itself four times. With each stroke, Timmy screamed,
howled, bawled louder than for the one before.

For the grand finale of the forty-second paddle spank, the
machine struck full force across both of Timmy's cheeks,
simultaneously bursting all his blisters. Timmy throat
wretchedly howled as never before. He couldn't believe the
state the monitor showed his bottom to be in, red as a ripe
tomato, several blue bruises, weeping blisters everywhere.
That couldn't possible be his bottom, could it? But the pain
and fire in his behind told him that indeed it was his lit up
bottom lighting up the screen.

Timmy's respite was brief, as all too soon another 42 appeared
on the monitor. Without being repositioned from his final
paddling posture, the first impact of the cat-of-nine bit into
his bare bottom. Nine burning tails of fire on his already
savaged behind. Repeated every five seconds. Left cheek.
Right cheek. Both cheeks. In his crack. Over and over. The
crack strokes were the worse, as invariably the tip of a tail
of two would find its way into his hole.

Amazingly, the incoherent noises blasting from his mouth never
diminished in volume or intensity. The pain was totally
intolerably unbearable. But the bare boy had no choice but to
totally tolerate the unbearable. There was no escape, there
was no stopping the machine from its appointed duty. To Timmy,
it seemed the spanker was determined to strip away the very
skin of his behind, to make his bottom into raw meat, raw red
meat. Of course, the machine was programmed to do no such
thing, although in extreme cases it could come close. And with
Timmy, it certainly would.

Finally, stroke forty-two of the cat landed, the hardest of any
of Timmy's eighty-four spanks. The boy let out another glass
shattering award winning shriek.

Immediately, the floor trolleys moved his feet until they were
shoulder length apart. The bench lowered, again positioning
him at a ninety degree angle. And the first penalty cane
stroke hit him like a run away freight train. The pain on his
already unimaginably sore bottom was simply incredible. A
narrow band of fire that just kept growing stronger and
stronger. He could see on the monitor the railroad track now
raised on his literally blistered bottom, a bottom as dark red
as the darkest apple he'd ever seen. Dark red except for the
three black and blue marks, and one purple one scattered helter
skelter on his rear.

A full ten seconds after the first cut, the next fell. Slightly
below and perfectly parallel to the first. Ten seconds later
came the third, placed below the second. Three more marched
down Timmy's behind. After each taste of the cane, he let out
a full voiced scream of pure distress, absolute agony. It was
a wonder that his voice had held out for the entire session,
his throat had to be raw by now.

The final two cuts, in the finest English tradition, diagonally
crossed all the others and themselves, forming a perfect "X"
superimposed over six straight lines. Timmy was astounded that
he hadn't passed out from the pain of these last two.

The cuff on his left wrist loosened and slid up his arm a few
inches. An arm with an ominous looking device descended down,
coming to a stop on Timmy's wrist. He felt a slight pinching
sensation, and the device ascended back into the recesses. A
thin plastic band, much like a hospital bracelet, encircled his
left wrist. He had been tagged!

The bracelet would inform parents, teachers, police, any adult
in authority, just how long he had to remain naked. The rule
was that even when the prescribed time was up, the child had to
stay naked until the band was removed. Which could only be
done at a JPC or other designated public facility, using
special tools. Timmy knew from personal experience the
futilely of "do it yourself" removal attempts. Last weekend,
he and two friends had tried to remove their buddy Bobby's tag.
They'd only succeeded in hurting Bobby's wrist. And setting
off some kind of signal that brought the local police patrol
car around. The officer had sternly warned them that if he
ever again caught them "tampering with government property" he
would file a report guaranteed to ensure them a very unwelcome
trip to Jacobs Avenue!

The machine released him. Still screaming and on rubbery legs,
assisted by two staffers, Timmy slowly, painfully made his way
back to the turntable. To his complete mortification, despite
his terrible ordeal, he was again sporting a hard on.

For the next seventy minutes, he slowly turned on the table,
displaying himself, his most-of-the-time erect penis, and his
destroyed bottom to one and all. When he finally left the
building with his family, he was still crying hard.

On the way out, his mom picked up his "certification of
punishment administered" slip. The desk officer also handed
her a diskette containing before, during and after pictures of
his session.

Timmy was glad to get out of the Juvenile Punishment Center.
He was glad to turn off Jacobs Avenue, not having to see that
horrible place again. While being in the audience might be
fun, especially if Jenny or Nick were getting it, he was
determined not to ever again be on stage. But he knew, deep
down, that sooner or later, he would be up there once more, his
bottom and his seemingly ever hard dick giving a show of
shows.

The family Crawford, with the still crying, still hard Timmy
still making a spectacle of himself, reached their home block.

"Well, kiddo," said his mom, waving the diskette around, "maybe
when your friends next visit, we can run a little slide show on
the computer."

"Please, mom, no," pleaded Timmy.

"And maybe," she continued, "when Uncle Bill and Aunt Helen and
your three girl cousins come next week."

Timmy realized that his ordeal was going to extend well past
his four days of naked time. But that's another story
entirely.

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Thousands of Stores. Millions of Products. All in one place.
Yahoo! Shopping: http://shopping.yahoo.com

Swen

unread,
Dec 13, 1999, 3:00:00 AM12/13/99
to
On Sun, 12 Dec 1999 12:58:01 -0800 (PST), Nialos Leaning
<nia...@yahoo.com> wrote:

I'm not a huge fan of males being spanked, but this was pretty good
anyway...I like the concepts!

Swen

Y. Lee Coyote

unread,
Dec 14, 1999, 3:00:00 AM12/14/99
to
On Sun, 12 Dec 1999 12:58:01 -0800 (PST), Nialos Leaning
<nia...@yahoo.com> wrote in
<1999121220580...@web123.yahoomail.com>:


A great big OUCH!

>"Well, kiddo," said his mom, waving the diskette around, "maybe
>when your friends next visit, we can run a little slide show on
>the computer."

and prove how macho he was to servive that extreme treatment.

Thanks for posting.

Y.

Posted and e-mailed.

Valid return address is <YLeeC...@Juno.com>
(Posting address is for the spammers)
See my stories at:
http://www.geocities.com/yleecoyote1938/

Nialos Leaning

unread,
Dec 15, 1999, 3:00:00 AM12/15/99
to
In article <385582b6...@netnews.worldnet.att.net>,
YLeeC...@Juno.com wrote:

> A great big OUCH!

You've got that right!

> and prove how macho he was to servive that extreme treatment.

Well, being a typical twelve-year-old boy, I'm sure he will!

> Thanks for posting.

You're welcome, and thank you for all your great stories!


Nialos Leaning
"A red face, a red bottom,
a lesson well learned"

Sent via Deja.com http://www.deja.com/
Before you buy.

Nialos Leaning

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Dec 15, 1999, 3:00:00 AM12/15/99
to
In article <38554460...@news.supernews.com>,
swen...@aol.com wrote:

> I'm not a huge fan of males being spanked, but this was pretty good
> anyway...I like the concepts!

Thank you Swen, I like the concepts, too!

I'm not sure how old Candance is these days, but even if she's over the
JPC age limit of 15, I'm sure you can find a cooperative duty officer
willing to bend the rules. And try out some of the diabolical new ideas
the steering comittee have been developing!

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