Futurespank Judicial Punishment 1


by Millard <Millardtwits1@yahoo.com>

It would be easy to say that all boys who belong to gangs do so because of a poor upbringing, parents that were absent, or non-existant, drugs, alcohol etc. Brian Jacob Michaelson, who was twleve and a half years old, had no such background. His father was an investment banker, who would willingly spend time with Brian, and his sister Ann. His mother was a school teacher, and spent every evening during the school year helping the kids with their homework before doing her own. Brian's family didn't drink, or do drugs, or even smoke. His sister was ten. She didn't run around with boys until all hours of the night. In fact, if you had to draw an example of a perfect middle class suburban family, you could easily choose the Michaelsons.

Brian had been paddled once by his father, who felt so bad about it that he made the mistake of apologizing to the boy. Brian was wise enough to tuck that away in his brain, and used it whenever he got in trouble again, saying "oh please daddy, don't paddle me again, I can't stand it". Whatever anger the father felt at that time was channeled into guilt, and the boy got away with anything. He started to spend time "studying" with a new friend from school, a friend who lived in the apartments across town. What parent could deny their only son the opportunity to "help" a classmate who was less well off than they were? The Michaelson's not only supported Brian, they actually sent food and cash to help the boy's family. Brian would throw the food away, and always kept the cash. He would write glowing thank you notes, signing them "Mrs. A." and bring them home to his parents. In fact, his "friend" was a group of boys he had met at school. "Mrs. A"'s apartment was a clubhouse in the rear of an abandoned gas station on Main street. The boys called them selves the "A" team. They were the epitome of what the Michaelsons would have hated, had they known, or only taken the time to know.

Brian, who had no real friends before the gang, clung to them. He was the youngest gang member, the only blonde, the skiny kid that was never chosen by the other boys for sports. He was, well, a perfect patsy for the gang, and they knew it. They led him along, became his pal, willingly accepted his parents money, and all along were planning a robbery where Brian would be the lookout, the one without a mask (so as not to draw attention, they told him). The robbery had been planned for months, and it took only the winds of fate blowing Brian to them that allowed the plan to work. He was eased into the club, befriended. His jokes, though lame, were laughed at. Oh, he was set up. The robbery was from a check cashing place. It worked wonderfully. The boys excaped without any problems. Only one thing happened...the security cameras got severalclear shots of the blonde haired boy who stood in front and watched outside. Pictures were shown on TV, and Brian found himself in juvenile court before judge Clayton Pierce, who was elected on a no-nonsense ticket when it came to juvenile justice. He frequently would be seen at one of the city's discipline centers, greeting the young felons and misdemeanors as they walked out, universally holding onto their backsides, with tears running down their faces. Boy or girl, seven, or seventeen, it mattered not to Judge Pierce.

After Brian was brought before him, and refused to incriminate his "mates", Judge Pierrce brought the boy into his study. He turned out the lights, and played a video, which showed three boys, and one girl as they entered a discipline center, were led to a "machine", stripped, fastened, and flogged. When the tape ended, it showed all four bottoms on the same screen, all were a brilliant red, streaked with blue. While there was no sound with the video, there was a lot of gasping coming from Brian. Judge Pierce told him quite simply that he would see to it that Brian spent quite a while in the new corporal discipline division of the juvenile court. Judge Pierce looked him in the eyes, and said "I will give you ten seconds to tell the names and addresses of the other boys involved in the robbery. If not, I shall have you taken to a "DC", and spanked...hard. You will then be brought back here and asked the same question. If you don't answer to my satisfaction, you will be taken back, and run through the machine again. Trust me, young man, I can last a lot longer than you can, and I guarantee you your little butt will be black and blue. Now, tell me the names. You'll still get the machine, but only once."

The Judge sat back with a smirk on his face. The video was enough to make hardened juvenile delinquents pee their pants. This little sissy would fold before five seconds, he was sure of it. Brian gulped. Frankly, he didn't know the boys real names, and certainly not their addresses. He tried to explain that to the judge, who simply said "too late."

Brian found himself being escorted by two burly policemen to an unmarked Ford Victoria. He was handcuffed, seatbelted in, and driven a short distance to an unremarkable block building. Oh, he knew that there were such things, but he never in his wildest imagination even considered that he would see one, let alone be spanked in one. He started to cry, and had to be pulled from the car. Unlike most of the children awaiting punishment, he did not swipe his card and take a seat, awaiting instructions based upon his i. d. number. No, the officer used a key, and he was led into the waiting room. He was made to sit while the officers waited for one of the four machines to open up. He was being given a priority one preference, and would be the next one spanked. He looked around and saw that seven other kids were waiting. To his surprise, there were two girls, who looked to be about his age. They were clinging to each other, and were quite obviously identical twins. He tried to make eye contact, wondering what they had done, when a door opened, and an older boy walked out, holding onto the seat of his tight jeans like they were on fire, tears still dripping from his face. Brian froze when he saw it. He was lifted up, and taken into the room, there were four big machines, one of which, number three, had its door open. The cops took his cuffs off, and told him to strip. "Leave your shoes on, take off everything else. You have two minutes to get into the machine, or it will award you additional swats. I don't think you will want that." He laughed, and the other cop laughed too. Brian was embarassed. He had never been naked in front of strangers before, and it wasn't until one of the cops pointed to a clock that had counted the seconds down to 54 before he decided to do what they said. He removed his shirt, then his tee shirt. He put his hand at his belt, and slowly unfastened it, the eyes of the policemen upon him. He had to take his shoes off to get his pants off. He put them back on, just as the timer went o! ff. A si gn lit up showing a "1". The cops laughed and said "you got yourself an extra stroke sonny boy. Every ten seconds, you'll get another. I suggest you get your pants off and get in there. Brian had tears in his eyes as he pulled his underpants down, turning his back on the men. He got them caught in his shoes, and by the time he was ready, the clock said "4". He made a lunge for the door, but didn't know what to do. The clock said "5". Crying, he finally walked in. A metalic voice said "step onto the yellow foot pads, and raise your hands up taking hold of the yellow wrist straps. He saw the foot pads, but couldn't find the straps. He had to look up to find them. By the time he had done so, and the clock had stopped, the thing showed "9". In fairness to Brian, had he been there for a normal spanking, and not a court appointed one, he would have been made to watch a short video on how to undress, and how to stand and grip the handles. He stood, naked except for his shoes, his thin frame stretched as his hands gripped the wrist straps. He was embarassed to realize that he had an erection. He did not know why, figuring out later that it was caused by fear. Now, it was just an embarassment. With a hiss, cuffs formed around his ankles and wrists, and he found himself secured tightly, stretched to his limits. A noise started, and he saw a padded arm rise up to his waist. His hands were then brought down, in front of him, and finally lower, causing his body to arc over the padded arm, as he was securly held down. He found he couldn't move a muscle, and that in itself caused him to panic. Then, a large TV monitor lit up in front of him. He saw a close up of a pair of white buttocks, with small dangling balls, and a little brown hole. He wondered why they were showing him some boy's butt, when an uncomfortable feeling came over him. He tried to clench his butt cheeks together. While he couldn't do it, he did see the buttocks in front of him move in the attempt. He was facing his own butt, in much clearer larger format than he had ever seen it in a mirror. What he didn't know was that each machine had an option of broadcasting punishments on a closed circuit, and that the two cops standing outside, and the honorable Judge Pierce, in his chambers, were watching the self same set of buttocks as they quivered prior to punishment. A number appeared at the top of the screen. In green, it displayed "20". He wondered what that meant. Then, he heard a noise, and saw a blur on the screen. In miliseconds, his brain exploded with the pain that had suddenly made itself known in his butt. The whirring continued, and stroke after stroke hit him. The numbers dropped to "10" before the machine paused. He was able to catch his breath, enough to see his butt now. It was a vivid red, with little blue circles on it. He wondered what that was all about, then saw a movement. The first arm moved out of the way, and a second arm placed something clear just above his butt. He made out that it was a clear paddle with holes in it. As his mind determined that fact, the paddle cracked down again, and he was once again thrown into a pit of burning pain. His butt felt like it was huge. It felt on fire. He was crying, and screaming with each hit, but the soundproof booth let no noise escape. For those who were watching, if they didn't know better, the could have been led to believe that the boy was stoic and absorbing the hits with no effect.

After the machine had counted down to "0", there was a pause. A red light lit up in front of his eyes, and he saw a boy's face, his face on the screen. He almost didn't recognize himself. His eyes were bloodshot, snot ran down his chin, and tears dripped from his swollen eyes. The light went out, and the screen showed his butt again, as the machine made another adjustment. He found himself being bent over, more, so that soon his head was down by the ground, facing yet another screen that was on the opposite wall. His legs were pulled apart, and he studied his terribly painful looking butt cheeks, and the incredibly white area inside his crack, which was now exposed. He wondered about that, as the screen lit up with a "50"! No, this couldn't be happening. He yelled, he screamed, he even asked for his mommy...nothing changed.

It was like a soft brushing feeling, similar to gently tapping a twig against your hand, except this twig was a leather strap, and it wasn't brushing against his hand but rather it was gently sliding up his bottom crack. He could see it was black, and looked like it had little fingers in it. He was almost happy that it wasn't the paddle, when it snapped, and flicked inside his crack. The tips bit into his open anus, and were carried back through the valley to the top of his butt. Before he could cry out, the thing hit him again, and again, and again... At first, the strokes didn't really hurt, then they started to sting, then to burn, then to ache. Still they continued. Through blurry eyes, he saw the number flipping quickly down, but it still was somewhere in the thirties. Over and over he was assaulted there until it hit "10", when it paused, and adjusted. It moved further down, toward his bag, resting just at the edge. It then lifted, and applied ten horrendously painful strokes to the area between his anus and his bag. He pulled in on his balls to keep them from harms way. They were not touched, but his bag was grazed. He howled. He shook.

Once again, his face was shown on the screen, as he was hauled upright. He found himself with his hands straight up in the air, stretched like he had been when he first came in. His heart leaped with joy as he knew he was going to be released. In this position, he could squeeze his bottom cheeks together, but quickly stopped that when he realized how painful that simple act was. The little whip had made sure of that. The screen lit again, showing on a split screen his back, and his front. He was amazed that his little penis was still standing proudly, staring at the camera with it's eye. He was embarassed, and closed his eyes. He had relaxed his buttocks, and this was good, as the machine's cane was able to smash into his buttocks without them being clenched, which would lead to a very deep bruising. Remaining relaxxed would allow the buttocks to absorb the cane's velocity, causing a deeper pain, but not a brusing pain. Alas, it was not to be. As soon as the cane hit, his eyes flew open, and his cheeks were tightly closed. Thus the remaining nine strokes did indeed leave bruises and welts.

The camera on his backside closed in, examining in detail the damages that had been done. He felt himself being placed over the padded arm again, and his legs were once again spread apart. He screamed and begged, but this was not for another punishment, it was instead to give the observers a closer look.

Finally, he was stood up again, and released. The door opened with a hiss, and light, blinding light, caused him to almost walk into the wall. Two policement, surprisingly gentle, led him to his clothes, and dressed him. His tee shirt was put on his little chest, his regular shirt was put on, and they held him up as they untied and removed his shoes. They talked to themselves, then said to the boy. "We ain't gonna put your undies on. Your butt is too swollen, and they would feel real bad."

He stood between the men, as they were fitting his pants around his legs. He looked up to see the two twins each entering a room, their clear, unmarked bottoms identical in every way. They both stared at him as they went to their destiny.

He was led out, and allowed to lie on his stomach for the trip back to the courthouse.

To be continued...


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