Spankatorium
Spankatorium
_ Preface:
Some time ago, a well-meaning friend directed me to a story on the internet called "Timmy's Unpleasant Encounter of the Mechanical Kind" by Nialos Leaning. The story was Not My Thing(tm), but despite not enjoying it, I could see why my friend directed me to it -- it had some delicious potential. So I started toying with it.
At first, I merely changed the age, gender and species of the victim. Then I started deleting bits I didn't like. And changing other bits. And fluffing out the details in some areas. And adding bits to make it a little meaner. And a little meaner. And a little meaner.
Before I knew it, I had something over twice the original's length, significantly different, and a lot meaner.
Here it is. I'm sorry that I can't say this is an "original" work of mine, because it is not. But_ most _of what you will be reading is from my own twisted mind. Enjoy!
(Oh, and PS: this story involves sexual torture and not much more. And it's evil. Don't read if you are offended by that sort of thing.)_
* * *
Spankatorium
"Annie Mitciv, report to booth A in Spankatorium 3," announced a very pleasant female voice.
Nervously and ever so slowly, the sixteen-year-old vixen Annie stood up.
"It's show time, kiddo," announced Tom, her older brother and legal guardian. After graduating college, Tom had come home to raise her and her sisters.
"Great!" gloated Jennifer, her thirteen-year-old, snowy-furred sister and primary cause of her current predicament.
"Goody, goody," giggled her younger sister Sammy from behind her tail. Age eleven, Sammy was the other source of her immediate problem.
Annie once again opened her mouth to protest, as she had done for hours before, but Tom cut her off with a raised paw before she could squeak out a word. Her heart sank, even though she had known Tom was not going to listen. Instead, she turned and glowered her guilty younger siblings. They knew the truth, and so did she... but her Annie was so frightened about what lay ahead that her stare was more pitiful than intimidating.
Jennifer stuck out her tongue. Annie looked away.
Turning to the right, her eyes flickered off the four large video monitors at the front of the waiting room. Monitors showing the damage that the dreaded spanking machines, one in each spankatorium (one for the boys and three for the girls), were doing to the bare behinds of other kids. Kids just like her, some of whom she knew from school. A school where, unlike parents and teachers, none of the kids were happy about the newly built Juvenile Punishment Center.
Making her hesitant way toward the doors of her unwanted fate, Annie's glance caught the array of monitors for the sixteen turntables in Spankatorium 3. Most of the slowly rotating tables were occupied by teenage girls, some sobbing profusely. Seeing her name, her eyes focused on the small computer screen next to the monitor for empty turntable 8. A computer screen that now listed her punishment sequence. A listing that quite literally froze her in her tracks.
Her brother had sentenced her to a naked-bottom level four "standard" spanking, to be followed by twenty-four hours of remaining nude below the waist. But the screen indicated that she 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 her latest "misbehavior" and her past history as input by Tom, she deserved the higher severity of punishment. A recommendation that, since it was listed, her brother must have had agreed with.
It got worse. Much worse. With a choked sob, she read that her measurements had been taken into account and she had been deemed suitably proportioned. Her bottom would not be receiving her punishment. Her breasts would!
It was so unfair! It was so mean! Boys are always spanked on the bottom! But girls, the moment they develop past an A-cup, their punishments are transferred to a much more sensitive, vulnerable place! Why oh why did the government make it like that, Annie questioned, her arms raising protectively to her sweet young breasts.
Annie was scared, very scared. This was the first time for any of the Mitcivs at the Erutrot Avenue JPC, or any other JPC for that matter. Not surprising, as Erutrot 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 the behinds and breasts of misbehaving youngsters ages twelve to seventeen. Her siblings were happy to be here, she wasn't. But then, they were here to see the show; she was going to be the show!
"Booth 3-A, two minutes and forty seconds remaining," the gentle female voice intoned, bringing the entranced Annie out of her daze. She now noticed that on "her" screen next to her first punishment item of "completely naked" a timer was counting down, second by second. It now read "02:16." She remembered the officer at the registration desk saying that to avoid a penalty, she had three minutes from when she was called to a preparation booth to being in the state of undress specified for her punishment.
"Holy shit," she muttered to herself, quickly moving toward the doorway. She hoped no one had overheard her swear; she just couldn't help herself.
With much trepidation and very little bravery, Annie entered Spankatorium 3 just as the female voice informed the waiting room, "Booth 3-A, one minute and fifty-eight seconds remaining."
Annie felt as if all of the nearly hundred pairs of eyes in the almost full theater were staring at her as she made her way to the "prep" booth in the left rear corner. Why did the government have to sell tickets to the "show," wondered the flustered girl. 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 skunkgirl. Others were concentrating their stares on the naked and pantless teens stationed on the turntables scattered about the u-shaped stage.
Not a single girl was making the least effort to cover her exposed privates. Annie 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 she entered the glass booth, Annie noticed the bare bottomed little girl of about twelve leaving the booth in the other corner had obviously hard nipples poking at her thin shirt. They only heightened her anxiety as it reminded her that her own nipples hardened each and every time she got nude. It was as if her nipples, once set free, just had to turn to rocks in order to better enjoy all that air and light.
Silently sliding closed, the booth door locked behind her. "Annie Mitciv, 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," Annie felt compelled to respond, yet feeling foolish in answering a computerized, synthesized voice.
As she stripped down, a digital clock ticked off her remaining time. Every ten seconds, the voice also enunciated the time she had left. She paused, swallowing and summoning the will to unbutton her blouse. She didn't wear a bra, even a training one, although her chest was more than ample enough to warrant one. Nervously, she peeled off her blouse, exposing her tits. Her nipples were already hard and thrusting from the orbs of her breasts through her fur. Her instinct was to cover them, but she knew better, and spent precious seconds forcing her hands to remain at her sides. With fifteen seconds to go, only her white cotton panties were protecting her modesty. She once more froze, she just couldn't take them off and show her pussy! At the ten second mark, the voice started a countdown, "Ten, nine, eight..." Still, the girl kept her hands from her panties, breathing hard, and her nubs getting even harder, perhaps from fear.
"Three, two, one, time," said the voice, immediately following with an emphatic "Penalty!" Annie moved her trembling hands to her underpants. "Session increased one level, to level six. Additional penalty for every ten seconds not ready, ten, nine, eight..." The distressed Annie couldn't quite bring herself to remove her last small piece of clothing despite the severity of the penalty. Now instead of her strokes being five times her age, equally split between a small paddle and a tawse, they would be six times, similarly split. It also meant that she would now be spending sixty minutes, a whole hour, on the turntable, both before and then again after her spanking, rather than fifty.
She 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, she now remembered. As a penalty, one of the things the computer in the girl's spankatoriums could do is increase levels. And because it was a penalty, the new level didn't need approval of the original sentencer.
The boy's spankatoriums, she recalled, could add additional days of naked time. Part of the government's "Girl's need stricter punishments and boys need longer ones" philosophy. She'd seen boy's forced to go naked at school for almost a week, and had been glad girls didn't get sentences like that. Now, she'd have done anything to trade.
"Three, two, one, penalty!" informed the now dreaded voice. "Sixteen extra strokes, with the cane." Oh god no! Not the cane! "Ten, nine, eight..." And sixteen?! But cane penalties were supposed to be only half her age! She opened her mouth to protest, but then remembered. No, half your age was for the boys. And they would suffer three times the wait between strokes. How the hell was that supposed to make it even?
"Seven, six, five ..." The terrifying pronouncement propelled Annie to action. Ever so reluctantly, she inched her panties off. Unfortunately for her, she didn't quite have them off when the next ten second interval elapsed. "Penalty! Session increased one level, to level seven. Ten, nine, eight..." Horror filled her. Now her strokes would be seven times her age, split between paddle and tawse! Time at the turntable maxed out at an hour, but the new level had its own "special" addition. Something she'd never heard about before. The monitor detailed it. Transfixed, she stared at the screen, reading. Upon being fixed to the turntable, she was going to be injected with something. They were going to stick her with a needle! The medicine was something with a really long name she couldn't possibly read, but the description of what it did was all too clear. She knew what the words "temporary, accelerated lactation" meant. The computer was going to make her breasts start making milk before it beat them!
"Three, two, one. Penalty! Session increased one level, to level eight. Ten, nine, eight..." Annie felt like she'd been hit by a car! "NO!" she yelled at the machine. "I was just reading! You can't!" But, of course, it could. And that sadistically pleasant female voice just kept counting down. Nearly sobbing, Annie scooped up her clothes. "It's not fair! I was just reading!" This time, she didn't even look to see what "special" addition the new level of torture would include.
Before time again expired, Annie had her underpants in the locker and was fighting her tail's desire to swing between her legs and protect her sweetness from all the eyes in the audience. As soon as her hand cleared, the locker door hissed shut, locking with an audible click. She knew from what had been explained in assembly, that since she had naked time, her clothes would be mailed home to her parents.
"Annie Mitciv," came the now hated voice, "you have thirty seconds to be on turntable eight." The booth door slid open. "Counting down, starting now."
Annie, desperately not wanting any more penalties, rapidly made her 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. Annie stepped onto the three foot diameter device as the digital display overhead showed four seconds left. The moment she was on, the blue light shut off, and a spotlight lit her up her. The digital display above, as well as one embedded in the table, began counting off the girl's show off time. The overhead display, unseen by Annie, also listed her name, age, and the fact that she was to receive a level eight standard session.
Red faced, Annie was acutely aware of her hard little nipples jutting outward and slightly upward from her heaving, quite-full young breasts. Here she was, naked as a jaybird, standing on a rotating circle, showing off her soon to be beaten boobs to the entire audience. Which included her family, whom had taken seats in the spankatorium.
Two mechanical arms slid down from the ceiling, hovering to either side of her boobs. She froze as needles popped out from each of them. And squealed when they plunged into the soft tissue of her young mammaries. The liquid that was pumped in didn't hurt, but that didn't decrease her terror. A moment later, the needles pulled out, disappeared, and the arms retracted. It took her a few minutes to recover, and by then she had garnered spectators. The table began slowly turning.
"Hey, Annie, warm enough for you?" said a giggling young girl standing only inches from the front of the stage, eyes almost level with her crotch. Two other giggling girls were with her. "No? Well, it soon will be!"
Annie flushed even more furiously at her latest embarrassment. The situation made worse since she knew these three from her sophomore class. The three bitches from hell, as the girls called them behind their backs, always tormenting and belittling their female classmates. Apparently, rumors that the bitches regularly went to the JPC for fun were true. One had brought popcorn.
For the first half-hour, her nipples occasionally softened, lessening her embarrassment for short periods of time. But not at all during the last half-hour. For that entire time, a naked fifteen-year-old otter girl was stationed on the turntable to her 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 her right was an equally naked, equally pretty, equally cute seventeen-year-old bunnygirl. With somewhat larger breasts and a little thicker bush that hid what lay beyond.
Annie didn't want the sight of these two vulnerable, helpless beauties to make her pussy ache and her nipples turn so hard it was painful. But she couldn't help it! They just did! When she realized that the girl on her right was definitely going to have her breasts punished (and there was a fair chance that the girl on her left would too, as the computers never seemed to err on the side of compassion), her nipples became so hard that they were really hurting her.
By the second half-hour, she was beginning to feel the effects of the injections. Her breasts felt heavier and were growing more sensitive. According to what she read, the effects of this medicine would last only a few hours. But that was more than enough for the spankatoriums' purposes. Her swollen, larger breasts would make for an even better show, while the lactation would increase her sensitivity, making each blow more painful. It was a terrible, evil penalty!
Time moved much too slowly for Annie. 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 and sporting tits terribly reddened under their fur, several wearing shirts but pantless, bare bottoms and pussies clearly showing, but most dressed.
Time moved much too quickly for Annie. Days before she was ready, the voice announced "Annie Mitciv, report to the spanker. You have thirty seconds from now." The voice launched into its now familiar countdown mode. "Thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight..."
Her jutting nipples leading the way, her tail dragging, a crying Annie went toward the evil machine. But not fast enough. She was just a step away when the voice proclaimed "one, time." Immediately followed by "Penalty! Session increased one level, to level nine."
Level nine! It wasn't fair, the boys could only go as high as five, adults themselves could only assign as high as five, but for girls the JPC's shitty computer could keep going higher and higher. It wasn't fair, it just wasn't!
"Motherfucker!" screamed Annie as she 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 Annie was crying very hard now, and the first spank had not even yet fallen upon her bare bosom. 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 nine, she would get seventy-two doses of each. Plus her sixteen penalty cane strokes. She'd never be able to wear a shirt again!
She couldn't help what she'd said, it just kind of came out. It was no big deal, all the girls in her class swore, especially when adults weren't around to hear. But to the fucking stupid computer, it was a fucking big deal, and now she would pay. Stupid shitty computer!
"Approach the center yellow line," instructed the voice. Annie 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." Annie did as told. Before she realized what had happened, her wrists and ankles were shackled. Shackled by soft cuffs attached to adjustable rods projecting from sliding trolleys set in tracks, both overhead on a grid like structure, with multiple intersecting tracks crisscrossing each other, and 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 girl.
Suddenly, she was being bent back over the bench. Her arms were stretched upwards and back, flat on the table. Her own legs were pushed up against the bench's legs. A strap tightened itself across her tummy. Behind her, another cuff locked about her tail, pulling it through a tailhole in the bench. She heard the cuff rods click, locking her arms and legs in place. Mechanical arms slid along tracks carrying ominous-looking devices. Positioning themselves beside each breast, they lassoed her tits with thin plastic cables. The arms pulled the cables tight, causing her young but full breasts, already swollen from forced lactation, to bulge. The arms sealed the plastic lassos in their tight position and cut the ends, leaving them secure around the Annie's breasts while the arms slid back out of sight. A padded knob lifted out of the bench, pushing into the small of her back, forcing her to arch.
On the video monitor in front of her, she could see just how vulnerable she looked, restrained to the bench, her bare breasts pointed toward the eagerly watching audience. An audience including her two sisters, her brother, and the three little bitches from hell. Her eyes moved to her brother. Surely, he must see what the fucking computer has turned her session into! Surely, Tom can't agree to this! But her brother just smiled and waved to her.
Suddenly, she felt a needle jab into her bottom. She shrieked in alarm. She twisted about, staring frantically at the audience, certain something was happening that should not be. But then her eyes fell on the monitor. No, this was supposed to be happening. This was the "special" addition that came with level eight. According to the computer, the drug was supposed to "heighten awareness" in a fashion that prevented her from passing out. Apparently, level eight was bad enough most kids would normally pass out from the pain. And she was on nine. Fuckers! This was just awful.
She still didn't know what "special" treatment, if any, came packaged with level nine. It was probably something horrible.
It took only minutes for the drug to kick in. Suddenly, the room seemed painfully brighter. Colors seemed more colorful and the outlines of things became knife-like. The sounds around her increased in volume and clarity. She could smell the lingering scent of disinfectant and the sweat from the kids here before her. But none of that compared to the sharpening of her sense of touch. She became intimately aware of the texture of the bench and the cuffs. The uncomfortable position she was in became torturous. It was as if every nerve in her body had been amplified. The pounding of blood in her breasts with each heartbeat was maddening. Her hardened nipples became so painful they would have torn tears from her eyes if she wasn't already crying. Between the effects of the lactation and this new drug, her boobs felt more sensitive than her clit at the height of masturbation. She couldn't be spanked like this. She just couldn't.
Then her terror increased tenfold. The number 72 lit up in the upper right hand corner of the monitor, on which she saw the paddle slowly descending from above, at the end of a multiple-hinged metal arm. To her 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 her left breast. The paddle was big enough to cover her entire bosom, with room left over.
The pain was incredible! She couldn't help but scream, as loudly as her lungs would permit. Five seconds later, the paddle slammed into her right tit. Five seconds later, across both boobs, bridging her cleavage.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIII! NO MORE!" She wailed the words. It hurt more than she ever imagined. More than she thought pain could hurt. There was no way she could take another blow to her unreasonably sensitive breasts. She was sure it would kill her.
The spanking machine proved her quite quickly wrong. Oh, she could take another blow, no matter how powerful the pain was, because she had no other choice. The machine was just getting started. Three more blows, identical to the first, left the girl blubbering, begging and pleading frantically. "Stop! Please stop! No more! I can't take any more! Please, please, please stop!"
It didn't. The mechanical arm responded by cocking back the paddle and driving it hard across her breasts, sending them bouncing and knocking into each other. Fresh breastpain blasted through her mind, piling onto the pain of the previous blows! The arm cocked the other way, and swung the paddle back across her still rocking breasts, heaping on the hurting. Four more blows, back and forth, and Annie lost control, blaring out a vicious, torture-induced stream of expletives-laden pleas for mercy.
The machine responded to her cries: "Penalty! Use of profanity. Eight extra blows, with the cable." Annie's pain-soaked mind desperately tried to refuse what she had just heard. What had she done wrong?!? Why was the machine making this even worse?!! It took a moment for her to even realize she had swore. Oh god, it wasn't as if she even realized she was doing it. Wasn't it enough that her "punishment" was thinly disguised torture? She was expected to suffer submissively, obediently? She wasn't even allowed to swear in her screams?
Her mind utterly refused to conjure an image of the promised "cable". What the hell did the hellspawned machine mean: "cable"?! Annie had never even heard of that level of punishment before? She wanted to believe the damn computerized voice had just made it up; whatever it was, it was apparently so severe that even girls got only half their age in blows from it. She was sure boys couldn't get it at all.
As Annie's mind drowned in the horror of the machine's newest proclamation, the mechanical arm repositioned and returned to its first pattern of blows, landing a hard, cracking strike against her left breast again. Annie bellowed, no words mixing with her screams this time. The next two ratcheted the agony in her tits to such extreme heights that it blasted away her grasp of language. All she could articulate was unintelligible screams.
Over and over the pattern repeated itself, left, right, center. The pain and burning just kept getting worse and worse. Her titties were turning redder and redder, with white blisters scattered about. Her screams, howls, wails meshed into a horrible crescendo of an ear piercing banshee song, a mis-melody of anguished discord.
She couldn't help herself, she peed on the floor. "Penalty!" the voice boomed over the continuing spanking, sounding almost gleeful, "peeing on stage, sixteen additional strokes with the cane, for a total of thirty-two." Annie, of course, was in no position to protest. She was having enough trouble catching enough breath to issue forth her horrendous screechings.
After forty-five horribly torturous smackings, the paddling ceased. From what her feverish tear streaked eyes could see on the monitor of the condition of her already well punished boobies, Annie was fleetingly hopeful that the nasty machine was taking pity on her, showing her some mercy.
But alas for the poor girl, that was not to be. The bench tilted backwards, causing blood to rush to her head as her beaten, hyper-sensitive breasts rolled to expose their tender undersides. Then the bench rotated so her upside-down breasts were now presented to the audience, the undersides exposed lewdly.
Oh, God! she realized that the machine was going to hit her there, the only part of her boobies not a bright red under her fur, the only part not covered with blisters nobody could see (but that Annie could sure hellishly feel). A situation the machine promptly did its best to change. Mercilessly, emotionlessly, relentlessly, without any hesitation or lessening of force. The paddle angled for best effect, then came slamming down on the underside of her left boob. Her tit exploded in agony. Annie let out a scream to make angels weep. Five seconds later, the paddle repeated its mistreatment on her right boob. And five seconds after that, it struck across both, repeating the pattern it had used before. Annie's howls echoed throughout the chamber.
After eighteen unforgiving, vicious blows, the paddling ceased again. The bench tilted back so that she was now laying flat on it. She prayed it was over, but even through her tears she could read the number 9 on the monitor. A whirring sound, terribly loud to her "heightened awareness", filled the room as two mechanical arms lowered. These didn't end in needles, they ended in clamps.
Annie tried to cringe away from them, still screaming in pain, but she was helpless in her bonds. Heedless of her cries and the agony she was already suffering, the jaws of those arms opened and then bit down on her nipples. Annie's body lurched, arching further in a feat of pain as agony burst through her beaten, hard nipples. The arms swung away from her wailing, writhing body, pulling her tits apart painfully.
Turning the paddle sideways, the machine smashed into Annie's cleavage, obliquely striking the inside of her right tit, then the left, repeating itself four times. With each blow, the mechanical arms responded, the claws on her nipples rotating a quarter-twist. With each stroke, Annie screamed, howled, bawled louder than for the one before. Her only partially functioning mind realized this must be what comes with level nine. By the time the claws were done, they had twisted her brutalized nipples two whole turns. When the arms released her nipple, letting blood rush back in, she gave a prizewinning howl.
For the grand finale of the seventy-two paddle spank, the machine struck full force across both of Annie's boobs, smashing them flat and simultaneously bursting all her blisters. Annie throat wretchedly howled as never before. She couldn't believe the state the monitor showed her bosom to be in, her tits looking swollen, but no hint of the brutality she has suffered showing through her downy cream chestfur. Only her discolored nipples poking through the disarray of her fur gave any clue. That couldn't possible be her, could it? But the pain and fire in her bosom told her that, appearances to the contrary, it was indeed her lit up knockers lighting up the screen.
The mechanical, clawed arms retracted into the ceiling, but not before a parting shot. Annie heard a soft hiss from tiny nozzles beneath the claws. The mist was pungent with the scent of lemon. Her chestfur became quickly soaked and the broken blisters covering her titties went nova! Annie thrashed wretchedly, new levels of hollering blasting from her lungs.
Annie's respite was non-existent, as all too soon another 72 appeared on the monitor. The bench again tilted and rotated, and the first impact of the cat-of-nine bit into her bare titties. Nine burning tails of fire on her already savaged boobs. The cat was, to Annie's horrific disbelief, even worse than the paddle!
The next lashing strike was completely concentrated on her right flesh-zeppelin and was even worse than the first. The third struck her left with vicious equality. Annie arched violently against her restraints, her breasts quivering in the air as searing fire burned down through them. The fourth lashing sent nine tails biting into the undersides of her hyper-sensitive breasts, causing new levels of excruciating agony! Annie's whole body began to shake, as if attempting to rattle her restraints apart. (The restraints, unfortunately for the poor girl, were so over-engineered that no amount of her thrashing could weaken it.)
The cat's tails sounded like firecrackers, nine sharp cracks snapping across the air, overlapping but not quite simultaneous. Her screams split the air, hotly pursuing. With each lash, Annie knew pain she had never imagined... not even with the strikes before. Each time, she was certain that the excruciating, mountainous agony she felt was the most pain that could possibly exist. And each blow that followed proved her so torturously wrong! Each blow overlaid and added it's cruel hurt to the mountains of suffering created by those before, and by the paddle-beating before them!
Repeated every five seconds. Left breast. Right breast. Both breasts. Undersides. Over and over. Each lash drew nine tails whipcracking across her titties. With almost every nine-tailed strike, one of those evil tails would find a nipple. The blows across her cleavage were the worst, as they never failed to leave a new, amplified swath of flame across both her tittynubs.
Amazingly, the incoherent noises blasting from her mouth never diminished in volume or intensity. The pain was totally, intolerably unbearable. But the bare girl had no choice but to totally tolerate the unbearable. There was no escape, there was no stopping the machine from its appointed duty. To Annie, it seemed the spanker was determined to rip her tits apart. Of course, the machine was programmed to expertly avoid even breaking skin, although in extreme cases it could come close. And with Annie, it certainly would.
The last eight strokes all whipped across both her titties, each markedly harder than the last. Finally, stroke seventy-two of the cat landed, the hardest of any of Annie's one hundred and forty-four spanks. The girl let out another glass shattering award winning shriek.
Immediately, the bench rotated and tilted, bringing her back to her original position. And the first penalty cane stroke hit her like a run away freight train. It landed across her breasts, striking her areolas just below the nubs of her nipples. The pain on her already unimaginably sore breasts was simply beyond incredible. A narrow band of fire that just kept growing stronger and stronger.
She could see on the monitor that her fur completely concealed the railroad track now raised on her literally blistered bosom, and how it hid that her boobies were as dark red as the darkest apple she'd ever seen. But the audience could see how violently the blow left her breasts bouncing. And they could see the deep, purple-red of her areola, with black and blue marks centered on her nipples. They saw, and they applauded!
The only thing on Annie's mind was that it had to stop! It hurt too much! It hurt way, way, way too much! Not even a machine could be this cruel!!
A full ten seconds after the first cut, the next fell. Slightly below and perfectly parallel to the first, striking areola just above her nubs. Ten seconds later came the third, placed below the first. Then the fourth, landing harshly just above the second. Five more marched down Annie's knockers, and another five up. Each blow crushed her mammaries underneath the cane, her breastflesh ballooning to either side. Crippling pain!!! Devastating pain!!! Demolishing pain!!! After each taste of the cane, she let out a full voiced scream of pure distress, absolute agony. It was a wonder that her voice had held out for the entire session, her throat had to be raw by now.
The next two cuts fell on Annie's left breast, in the finest English tradition, diagonally crossed all the others and themselves, forming a perfect "X" superimposed over fourteen straight lines. The cross of the "X" landed on her areola just to the right of her nipple. Dribbles of white escaped the nub. Annie was astounded that she hadn't passed out from the pain of these last two, even with the cocktail she had been injected with. Then two more fell, this time the "X" crossing just to the left of her nipple. Blinding, crippling pain made her body lurch and writhe, dancing in absolute agony. Without shame, the machine laid two identical crosses over her right breast. Small droplets of milk rained trails down her burning breasts. The pain had moved far, far beyond her ability to vocalize in screams. All that came was a perfectly pained little squeak.
Her punishment, however, wasn't quite over. If Annie could read through her tears, she would have seen that the monitor still read ten strokes of the cane remaining. Any thinking girl would immediately realize from the pattern where the other strokes were meant to fall. But Annie was beyond thinking. All she could do is suffer. Suffer in a way only a girl could suffer. Her entire world had dissolved into nothing by an abyss of mammary agony.
The uncaring, unfeeling machine blasted two more cane-strokes across each over-sensitized breast, this time crossing them directly over her hard, devastated nipples. It felt like her knockers were splitting apart volcanically. It felt like the world was splitting apart in her boobs. Annie rocked in her bonds.
Four left to go. The cane arm positioned itself.
The last four fell, two each, vertically across her nipples. Never had hell itself known such pain. Annie found her voice again, letting out a scream of pure, perfect agony so high-pitched that only dogs could hear its full, rich beauty.
Annie spent uncountable time writhing, twisting, bucking. She had no guess for how long the caning had been over before her mind realized the machine had stopped. And it took over twice that long for her sanity to swim its way through the blinding ocean of breast-pain enough for her to even recognize her surroundings.
She went limp, all her strength beaten out of her through her breasts. The world of pain that was each breast pulsed as her chest lifted and fell, heaving with each tortured, pain-soaked breath. She was drowning in mammary agony! It faded only begrudgingly, and only enough that she regained a small bit of her faculties.
She couldn't feel; the waves of pain from her boobs were so intense they blocked out all other tactile sensation. She couldn't hear; her ears were ringing. The combined agony and ringing destroyed her equilibrium, sickly twisted her gut and made her whole body feel cold and clammy. She could barely see; she could make out the walls of the room through her tears. She refused to look at the monitor showing the state of her breasts. She looked instead up at the observation window. And saw the expectation in the faces pressed against it. And it was in that moment that she realized the greatest horror in the universe.
It! Wasn't! Over!
A panel slid open in the roof at that very moment. It was as if the machine had been toying with her, waiting for just the right instant before producing the cable! Utter, freezing horror washed over the teenage vixen, nearly numbing her - everywhere except for her abysmally suffering chest. The cable was, terrifyingly, exactly that. A yard-long loop of woven metal cable thicker than her thumb, attached to the end of a multi-jointed mechanical whipping arm! Instantly, Annie found the strength to pull on her restraints, trying desperately to back away from it. But to no avail. She was, of course, totally helpless.
The computer screen lit up with a horrible 8.
Her nipples were so hard they felt like they were tearing themselves out her boobs. Her knockers somehow managed to hurt worse, the pounding pain becoming more intense with the anticipation. For the first time since early in her paddling, she found enough coherency to speak words. "oooooh god please no..." Her whimpering pleas degenerated, becoming bumbling and nearly unintelligible as the arm drew back.
The cable sang as it whipped through the air. It sang that twangy, metallic song only cables can sing. The song hit its crescendo when the cable hit her hooters landing two inches above her nipples, deforming her knockers, crushing a line of their bulbous flesh flat against her tit-bindings as the rest of those orbs ballooned around it. The impact slammed the wind out of the poor girl, leaving her unable to scream as the cable vanished from her furred plushness and the pain hit like a wrecking ball... if wrecking balls were made out of molten lava. And with that tremendous, unconscionable agony came back the pain from all the previous attacks on her tits. Like somehow, all her torture swelled up anew. She could feel all thirty-two strokes of the cane, all one-hundred-and-fourty-four combined blows of cat and paddle!!!
Annie's mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Her body jerked involuntarily in her bindings, not even truly thrashing anymore.
The screen read: 7.
The machine aimed for the undersides of her tits. The cable's song was like a scream as it sliced through the air. The impact felt like it should have torn her milkbags right off!!! Her breasts bounced viciously as her brain began to process the pain of the blow. It was all the first blow had been and more! That overpowering, mindraping sense of each blow struck anew flared through her breasts again, only with the pain of not one but two cable-whippings riding herd on it all.
On the screen, the number changed to 6.
Words fail to describe the third cable hit.
The number dropped to 5.
The fourth lanced across both of her super-hard nipples. Annie finally managed a sound; the tortured girl let forth a tremendous, full-lunged, bellowing screech. It wasn't the sound a person would make. It was the sound of a tortured, sexually wounded female animal.
The agony had long since transcended blinding pain; but if Annie could have looked up at the window, she would have seen that everybody in the Juvenile Punishment Center, save those doomed in other spankatoriums, had stopped and turned their attention to Annie. Never before had the staff heard such a scream. One staffer whispered the only description of it that anyone could think of: "Perfect."
The screen told everyone she had four more to go. The arm swung back. The cable sang. The arm swung forward. The cable screamed. The impact echoed. Annie reacted.
"PENALTY!" the computerized female voice rang out over the sound of the singing cable and Annie's bleating cries! Pain beyond pain beyond pain overwhelmed Annie's breasts. The girl was so completely lost in endless agony she had no idea what she did. Nor could she hear the computer as it announced her mistake and attached it's punishment. "...sixteen additional strokes with the cane. Adjustment! Caning has concluded. Additional strokes will be administered with the current implement." And of course she could not see as the new 3 on the screen vanished, to be replaced by 19!
At this point, the countdown was more for the audience anyway. Annie had long since lost the ability to count.
The cable sang and sang and sang, beating her melons like kettledrums, pausing between each blow only for the arm to reposition as the computer calculated the most excruciating angles for whipping her tits it hadn't yet used. Eleven blows forged new paths of pain across her boobs even as they reignited the pain from all the previous tortures! Swollen from punishments and even more from milk, her rib cushions bounced with frantic violence with each concussion.
Annie was a complete and total wreck when the computer's screen again pronounced 8.
The JPC's computer came up with something new. The cable whistled as it whipped through the air from Annie's right side; but instead of impacting with the outside of the loop, this time it lassoed Annie's right breast, the inner side of the loop slamming into her tormented jug! Milk squirted from her unspeakably abused nipples as the cable wrenched her breast viciously. The textured metal dragging over her boob as the cable tore away again!
Annie's breath hitched. Her sexy teenage body spasmed, her tears splashing everywhere. The cable repeated its new attack on her left milkbag, combining its profoundly violent wallop with a barbaric wrenching!
She did not hear the reactions from the audience; she was in no position to share their appreciation of the sheer programming beauty which allowed the JPC computer to hurt her this way! She did not share their sense of marvel, or wonder like some of them whether the new variation had been programmed in anticipation of this level. If she had any thoughts about this new routine, they would have been the opposite of kind. But the pain ripping through Annie's mind destroyed any attempts to think, even to think ill of the JPC.
The cable slashed out and caught her right breast again, this time from below. Annie began to make deep-throated, animalistic mewling sounds. Sounds so rich with pain that, could they be harvested, they could surely power the spankatoriums for years.
The number on the screen dropped, then dropped again as the machine gave her left breast the same heartless treatment.
Annie had just enough time to catch her breath before the cable's song filled the air of the chamber again, rushing at her from her right. This time, unlike the first lassoing, the cable came down to make harrowing contact with her right nipple before sliding off to grapple her left breast, lassoing it from her cleavage outward! The cable twisted and yanked her mauled udder before letting her go. Only to swing back to wrong her left nipple and ferociously mistreat her right breast. The punishments sent molten needles of burning agony flechetting through her
mammaries, even as they again stoked the fires of each and every previous blow, racking her rack. Annie's world, her whole universe, was nothing but her breasts. And her breasts were nothing but agony. She was drowning in a massacre of female pain.
It took over an hour before the pain subsided enough that Annie could string together thoughts again. But all Annie could think was: please, please, stop!!! The machine had indeed stopped flogging her breasts, but she wasn't processing the fact. For her, the scourging was still going on and on . When, finally, she realized her tits weren't being hit anymore, the only response she could manage was to instead think: please no more. She lay, collapsed on the machine, bosom heaving, fur pasted to her skin, drenched in sweat. Each heartbeat hammered more in her rib cushions than in her rigcage. Each thud sent explosions of sheerest agony through her chest, making her want to scream. But she had no strength left to scream. So she suffered magnificently in silence.
After several minutes more, she managed a sound. A low, simpering whimper.
Annie blinked the tears from her eyes. Her vision swam. She tried not to look at the monitor showing her tits, nor at the people who watched as her tits were tortured so, so badly. Her gaze rolled over the walls, not really taking anything in. Just trying to find something to focus on other than the insane hurting in her breasts that was trying to eat her alive. Eventually, her eye slid to the computer screen, and froze there, seeing something that would certainly give her nightmares for years to come:
2.
Annie's eyes opened wide with utter horror! Her breath caught! Her head turned in the slow-motion of panic until she saw the cable still dangling in front of her. The machine! It had waited for her to come to her senses! Even as this realization hits her, the arm swings back, and the cable scourges forward, cutting through the air, screaming out its metallic song!
The cable whales on Annie's helpless, horribly wronged breasts, steamrollering over them with two mighty, twanging WHOMPS!!!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!" Annie's scream echoed throughout the JPC. She followed it up with another. And another. And another.
The cuff on her left wrist loosened and slid up her arm a few inches. One of the claw arms descended down with an ominous looking device in its grasp, coming to a stop on Annie's wrist. She felt a slight pinching sensation, and the device ascended back into the recesses. A thin plastic band, much like a hospital bracelet, encircled her left wrist. Through her egregious suffering, she was only vaguely aware that she had been tagged.
The bracelet would inform parents, teachers, police, any adult in authority, just how long she 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. During that visit, she would supposedly be administered some advanced nanite concoction that would repair any potentially lasting damage, if necessary. The plastic bands around the base of her breasts were of the same nature, and could only be removed with the same tools. She did not know, but suspected they were to remain on for the duration.
The machine released her. Annie collapsed into a ball, still screaming, and had to be carried by two staffers back to the turntable. Despite her terrible ordeal, to what would certainly be her complete mortification, she was still sporting rock-hard nipples. Her breasts jiggled as she was carried, the minor movement provoking such unimaginable pain, eliciting fresh wails. As the bound her to the turntable, the poor girl finally managed to speak again. With a soft, whimpering, pain-strangled voice, she sobbed "Why?" Annie mind grasped that she had been punished, but she had forgotten completely what she had originally been sentenced to the JPC for.
For the next sixty minutes, she slowly turned on the table, displaying herself, her most-of-the-time hard nipples, and her devastatingly brutalized breasts to one and all. When Tom finally came to get her, he had to say her name three times before she recognized it as her own. All she really knew was that she was a girl, and that she was in unspeakable pain. And it was the way she was hurting that kept her aware she was female. She was still sobbing hard, her legs rubbery. Tom had to support most of her weight. He didn't seem to mind. No, not at all.
On the way out, her brother picked up her "certification of punishment administered" slip. The ferret desk officer also handed him a datastick containing before, during and after vids of her session. Multiple camera angles would provide vivid, cinematic reminders of each and every of the full two hundred blows of her punishment. As if Annie would ever forget.
Annie floated in and out of comprehending her brother's conversation with the desk officer, riding on tides of exhaustingly gruesome breast agony. At one point, she distinctly heard him ask, "If she is disobedient, when's the earliest I can sign her up for another session?" The question shot a jagged pillar of ice through her spine.
"She has two days of naked time," the ferret replied matter-of-factly, "and we require one more after the nanite injection to insure full physical recovery. So after three days, she could be assigned another session." The officer smiled and Annie's blood froze at the words which reached her ears. "But she'd be wise to avoid it. Every three weeks, the computer assesses her record. And if she's had more than one visit in that time, a permanent penalty is added. After all, if sessions are required that frequently, obviously they are not severe enough to be a deterrent. Permanent penalties are cumulative, and added to her sentence in each session thereafter."
Annie couldn't breathe for several seconds. Her mind raced, one single thought that climbed its way over the massive, crippling pain in her chest: IwillbegoodIwillbegoodIwillbegood!
Tom took a few free brochures, and chatted with the desk officer for some time about the regulations that allow JPC punishments to be assigned to people who are older than seventeen. Annie's wretched sobs provided background accompaniment to the officer informing Tom that, should she still live under his roof, or should he be paying most of her tuition or living expenses, trips to the JPC were still legally suitable punishments until she was twenty-three. Legal drinking age.
"If I was paying ten thousand dollars for my kid to go to college, and I saw F's on his report card, you better believe I'd be sending him for a spanking," the officer said, and Tom laughed.
When she finally left the building with her family, Annie was coherent enough to be thankful for the two days of required nudity. She wished it was longer. The idea of wearing a shirt, to have even the lightest material rub against her nipples and breasts, scared her enough to nearly faint.
Across the parking lot, a younger girl of about thirteen, her backside glowing an angry red, was sobbing and begging her parents not to make her sit down in the car. Annie's sobs and occasional broken cries caught their attention. When the girl saw Annie's breasts, she abruptly stopped fussing and became very obedient.
"See," Tom chuckled. "You're becoming a good influence on others."
Annie was glad to get out of the Juvenile Punishment Center. She was glad to turn off Erutrot Avenue, not having to see that horrible place again. Jennifer and Sammy could not stop talking about it. Giggling as they recounted the sequence of her punishments. Asking her how much it hurt. She could no longer imagine any joy being in the audience, even in a few years when Jennifer or Sammy were getting it, despite their clear enjoyment. And she was determined not to ever again be on stage. She would be as pliant, as obedient, as submissive as she had to in order to avoid it. But even so, she knew, deep down, that sooner or later she would be up there once more, her breasts and nipples giving another show of shows.
The family Mitciv, with the still crying Annie still sobbing wretchedly and making a spectacle of herself, reached their home block.
"Well, kiddo," said her brother, speaking to her like she was a child as he waved the datastick around, "maybe when your friends next visit, we can run a little show on the computer."
"Please, Tom, no," pleaded Annie.
Sammy reached out with a playful finger and flicked one of Annie's nipples. The touch was like being slapped by a fist of flame. She crumpled with a pealing squeal!
"And maybe," Tom continued, "when Uncle Bill and Aunt Helen and your three boy cousins come next week." Teenage boy cousins, she remembered, who already betrayed a fascination with her breasts.
Jennifer was already reaching out to try Sammy's game. Annie stared at the floor of the car and nodded submissively. She realized that her ordeal was going to extend well past her two days of naked time.
And as desperate as she was to avoid it, she feared that horrible place on Erutrot Avenue would see her again.
And it would-- all too soon and all too often for poor, suffering Annie. But that's another story entirely.