Mar 192014
 
The Future Spank contest really revved some imaginations. Here’s another fun one, called ‘A New Beginning’.
– Dana
A New Beginning
By 2,500 A.D. men had turned our planet into a state of constant warfare.  Young men were taken from their families at the age of 6 and raised by the state where they were taught sports and activities designed to enhance military skills.  By the time they were 16 they were conscripted into the military where they lived in barracks and remained soldiers until they were 62.  Fossil fuels were being rationed and renewable energy proved to be a boondoggle and couldn’t be sustained without government subsidies.  Our planet had entered another mini ice age similar to the period when General Washington wintered over at Valley Forge during the American Revolution.  Because of the colder climate we weren’t able to grow as much food and the world population decreased.  Just the opposite of what happened during the medieval period of global warming when Greenland was green and the warm climate allowed a surplus of food to be produced and the world’s population increased.

My name is Boudice and I was able to unite the women of our area with a vision of a better future.  Our borders were secure and there was no need to expand.  My plan was to submit the men to my vision of peace.  I organized the women to withhold sex with their mates until they submitted to our two demands; the end of warfare and election of women to political power.  Over the next years voters realized that women made the best political leaders and we were in total charge of our government.  Men became submissive to women and wars stopped.

That is about the time I discovered an old manuscript from the early 1900’s written by Dorothy Spencer.  She was a leading authority on marital harmony and the lost art of spanking.  She advocated that couples agree to spankings to clear the air.  The spanking would sincerely benefit the party at fault and not lead to dangerous quarrels- when the spanking is over the situation is resolved.  According to her plan revenge, oppression, force, and violence are omitted.  The idea is to administer punishment and avoid arguments that can lead to divorce court.  The plan calls for willful submission to a cooperative system of beneficial discipline.  Spankings should never be administered in anger and men are to be spanked with wooden paddles.  Punishments were to be painful so that the man being spanked would not want to repeat the experience.

The Spencer spanking plan was written into our law codes.  Every willing woman was issued a Spencer style spanking paddle with the authority to apply it to any adult male exhibiting aggressive behavior.  Tracking devices were inserted in the forearms of all males when they reached their 18th birthday.  Any man committing even minor acts of aggression if confronted by a paddle carrying disciplinarian was immediately identified by his tracking device and could choose either jail time or an immediate pants down paddling.  Most men avoided these public paddlings; but, a few seemed to have a strange need for an occasional spanking. They didn’t seem to enjoy the actual spanking but always returned for more  You could tell from their expressions that the spankings were painful but they apparently received some release from the pressures of the day after they were allowed to pull up their pants and continue on their way.

Today on my way home from the government health club I stopped by a food outlet and the young man in front of me argued about his ration card with the government service agent.  I grabbed him by his ear, lowered his pants and briefs to around his knees, bent him over the counter, announced that he would receive 10 spanks for his rude aggressive behavior, and told him that if he didn’t stay in position I would start my count again.  When I finished this 20 year old man was crying uncontrollably and his entire bottom was one bright red welt.  You could make out the imprint of the holes from my paddle!  I don’t think he was one of the men who has a strange need for an occasional paddling.

Now a little more about me.  I am a 35 years old 5′ 11″ tall and an avid body builder.  I have very little body fat due to daily workouts and diet.  These attributes aided me with my leadership during the revolutionary changes in our society.  As one of five Directors and a member of the Senate I wield much political power.  I have a civil union agreement with my mate Eric.  He is very fit like me and a type A male.  Because of this he feels the sting of my paddle about three times a month.  He hates these paddlings as much as I enjoy giving them.

It was brought to my attention that he was involved in an altercation over sharing Nautilus equipment at our government run health center.  When I returned to our housing pod without changing out of my skin tight yoga pants I put a straight backed chair in the middle of our bedroom and laid my Spencer paddle on the chair.  When Eric arrived home I greeted him with a passionate kiss on his mouth and told him to meet me in our bedroom.  When he came into the bedroom I slapped his face, sit in the chair with the paddle on my lap, and ordered him to strip and get over my knee.  I raised the paddle high in the air above my head and brought it down across the middle of his bottom with a snap of my wrist leaving a perfect imprint of my paddle across his bottom as he left out a gasp.  The second spank was just below the first and just as hard leaving another perfect imprint.  Next I started alternating from cheek to cheek as he cried, begged, kicked, squirmed, and danced over my lap.  He likes no part of being draped over my lovely lap.  Twenty-five spanks later his bottom was bright red, his eyes were blood shot and puffy, and tears were running down his face.  When I allowed him off of my lap to do his spanking dance around our room I smiled and felt a feeling of power.  When he finally calmed down I gave him another passionate kiss on his mouth.

Men have learned not to be submissive and not aggressive and warfare is a thing of the past under our new regime.

Mar 132014
 

‘Disengaging Autodrive’ is just another example of the creativity of spanko minds at work in the Future Spank story contest. Enjoy!

– Dana

Disengaging Autodrive
———————

Jeff Miller was the kind of self-absorbed jerk that gets promoted to Vice-President just a little too quickly. He stood at the point in his office where the south and the west windows intersected and looked far down to the roof of the executive parking structure, his eyes fixed on a single vehicle parked there. He had parked on the roof instead of in the covered parking this morning so that he could observe his new Nikola sportscar from a new angle several times throughout the day. The sun in the west window was almost parallel to the floor now, and it was Friday, and it was time to go.

The Nikola was a purchase that people like Jeff made when they wanted to show off. It was beautifully put together and very powerful, but it was also three times the price of the sweatshop-made warehouse-club cars that most people used, barely any bigger, and only slightly more comfortable. For all the power that the Nikola had, it was a slave to the ubiquitous autodrive feature that guided every car on the road to its destination, which meant that it didn’t actually arrive any faster than the cheapest plastic bubble on the road. But it was beautiful, and sitting in one told the world that you had more money than them, which is why Jeff had to have one.

On the ride this morning, the Nikola’s autodrive had moved him efficiently from home to work while Jeff had used the heads-up display to read some messages, surf the web, watch the news, and make some video calls. He hadn’t even touched the Nikola’s steering wheel nor any of the pedals. As he slid into the soft leather seat of the Nikola for his evening commute he instructed the car, “Nikola, take me home.”

“Destination set: home. Enjoy your ride,” replied the car.

Before the car had started, Jeff blurted out, “Wait. Screw it. Disengage autodrive.” A small smile spread across Jeff’s lips.

“Command not understood.”

“Nikola, Disengage autodrive.” Jeff’s smile faded.

“Are you sure?” Asked the car.

“Dis-engage-auto-drive!” Jeff shouted.

The car began to display and read a section from it’s user manual, “Mandatory government warning: Since 2025, all vehicles have been fitted with mandatory autodrive capability for your safety and efficiency. Disabling autodrive is highly discouraged and is for emergency use only. A $20 per mile tax will be assessed upon vehicles driving without autodrive to compensate the victims of road accidents. User is solely responsible for all traffic violations incurred while driving without autodrive. To continue to disengage autodrive, you must digitally sign a waiver by scanning your thumb on the fingerprint reader. Continue?”

Jeff’s smile was gone and he muttered something about the “bloody nanny state” under his breath. He swiped his thumb across the fingerprint reader and a moment later a small whirring sound announced the appearance of the steering wheel and pedals from a hiding place behind the dashboard. He flicked the start button, tapped the Nikola into forward gear, and eased silently out of the parking lot.

In his college days, Jeff drove one of the last gas-powered sportscars made, too old to be fitted with autodrive, and too much fun. He got his fair share of speeding tickets too, and under the government’s financial-means-tested penalty policy, when he was a college student he didn’t make enough money to be assessed a financial penalty. Not being assessed a penalty didn’t mean getting off lightly though.

When the government first introduced a financial-means-tested sliding scale of financial penalties for misdemeanors based on people’s ability to pay, there was a huge complaint from the middle classes. Average people’s nest-eggs for vacations and bigger TVs were eaten away by fines, whereas college students with no assets and little income got small fines or no fines at all. College students started to commit misdemeanors for fun knowing that they would not have to pay a fine for it. Something had to be done. A year later, the so-called ‘spanking bill’ passed through the government easily.

The government’s spanking bill meant that those who were getting away without paying a fine would now be physically punished instead. It was usually 12 strokes of an 8mm diameter, meter-long synthetic cane. Rather than having a sweaty police officer haphazardly striking the offenders, a spanking robot was developed that could clinically strike the offender’s bottom, with equal force in each stroke, and place the strokes parallel and slightly separated so as not to overlap the strokes. A room in the police station was used for the canings, and a police officer was present in case of a machine malfunction.

Jeff had received about 10 canings over the course of his college career, more than anyone he knew. The first ones were pretty scary, but after a while he realized that the canings weren’t that bad; the pain went away with aspirin and beer, and the marks went away after a few days. He even played “naughty speeder and angry police officer” with his college girlfriend from time to time and thoroughly enjoyed being on the receiving end of the inevitable spanking, but he was too stupid at the time to keep her as his girlfriend. Once he had graduated from college, he cleaned up his act and got a real job, he was assessed a few financial penalties for speeding, but then he replaced his old gas-guzzler with an electric autodrive car and never received a ticket after that.

Tonight, the fun was back. With the autodrive disengaged and Jeff at the wheel of the powerful Nikola, he surged past clusters of autodrive cars causing them to move erratically as they adjusted their trajectories for the single non-autodrive car around them, awakening their drivers or interrupting their entertainment. At some point in Jeff’s journey, a yellow light illuminated on the Nikola’s dashboard, indicating that he was exceeding the speed limit, but Jeff knew this section of freeway and knew that they had taken down the speed cameras years ago, and that it wouldn’t have a motorcycle patrol on it unless there was an accident. Besides, with his new salary, he knew he could easily afford whatever financial penalty that might be assessed for a speeding ticket.

As soon as Jeff arrived home and put the Nikola into park, he accepted an incoming video call on the Nikola’s heads-up display. It was the image of a female police officer, about his age, attractive, and somehow familiar. “This is officer Kane from the city police. Jeff Miller, your vehicle has reported that you have exceeded the speed limit at mile marker 217 of the President Wendy Davis Memorial Freeway at 6:15PM tonight, Friday the 23rd of March. Do you wish to contest the ticket?”

“Rat Bastard,” thought Jeff to himself – he had been turned in by his own car! There was no point in arguing, the police undoubtedly had all the evidence they needed from the Nikola’s telemetry. All that was left to do was to pay the fine. “No, Ma’am,” replied Jeff.

“Very well, report to the police station in precinct 7 immediately. I’ll send the coordinates to your autodrive,” said the image of the woman.

Jeff thought this was all wrong. Normally when you get a fine you just put your thumb on the fingerprint reader and pay it from your vehicle. Why did he need to go to the station? “Officer Kane, how much is the means-tested penalty for this offense? I’ll happily pay it by thumbprint right here on my dashboard,” said Jeff.

“The penalty is 18 strokes of a 12mm diameter, 1 meter synthetic cane. Report to the police station immediately. Officer Kane out.” The image disappeared.

Jeff’s mind raced. How could this be? Then it dawned on him, when means-tested financial penalties were introduced, there was a public outcry when financial penalties were being assessed on people with high salaries that were more costly than the cars the offenses were being committed in. The government’s spanking bill had both a lower salary limit and an upper salary limit, and his new salary put him above the limit. As he re-engaged the autodrive, the Nikola’s steering wheel retreated into the dashboard as if it had taken a cold shower.

Officer Kane was waiting on the steps of the police station as Jeff pulled up, having been alerted of Jeff’s arrival by the Nikola’s telemetry. Jeff got out of the car and instructed it to find the nearest available parking. Officer Kane was an amazing sight with her dark hair, piercing blue eyes, and muscular body displayed beautifully in her aerodynamic skin-tight motorcycle officer’s uniform. She was also taller than Jeff due to the tall stiletto heels on her boots that engage into the motorcycle’s safety system.

“Nice outfit,” said Jeff. “Do I know you?”

“Nice car,” replied officer Kane. “You’d better hope not.”

“Can I take you for a ride later?” Asked Jeff.

“You’re going to be taking a serious caning, Mr Miller. You’re not going to want to ride anything afterwards. Let’s go inside,” and with that, Officer Kane led Jeff into the punishment room that was just off the station lobby.

The punishment room was similar to the ones Jeff remembered from his college days, simply furnished with a punishment frame in the center, a punishment robot just off to the side of the frame, a coatrack, and a selection of canes on the wall, with the 12mm one being the thickest.

“Remove all your clothing and place it on the coatrack,” instructed Officer Kane, “and scan your thumb over the punishment docket.” Jeff did as he was told. Officer Kane then led Jeff over to the punishment frame and secured the straps for his wrists, upper arms, waist, upper thighs, and ankles. No movement was possible, ensuring an accurate, safe and even set of stripes from the punishment robot. Officer Kane loaded the 12mm cane into the punishment robot and gave it a fearsome-sounding test ‘swoosh’ before locking the robot in position.

Officer Kane stood in front of the punishment frame, face to face with Jeff. “Jeff Miller, you have been sentenced to 18 strokes of the 12mm diameter cane for the offenses listed in the punishment docket. You have declined a court trial. Your punishment begins now,” said officer Kane dispassionately, and then she lifted the safety cover on the spanking robot master control, dialled in 18 strokes, flicked the start button, and returned to the front of the spanking frame so she could study Jeff’s face.

The first stroke exploded on to Jeff’s backside, near the top of his buttocks. He yelled out in pain for a short moment until the second stroke landed just a little below the first. He was preoccupied with his pain but briefly noticed officer Kane studying his face intently. The third and fourth strokes elicited loud grunts from Jeff. The fifth stroke surprised him, despite being perfectly aimed and timed by the punishment robot, and he opened his eyes to notice that officer Kane was no longer standing in front of him. The sixth stroke landed and made him gasp, and then he heard a small click. The seventh stroke was late.

“Machine malfunction,” announced Officer Kane. “I’m going to have to complete the punishment manually.” Jeff heard the sound of the cane being removed from the punishment robot. “I’ll just move the punishment robot out of the way, after all, I need my space,” said officer Kane with a slightly sarcastic tone.

It was in that moment that Jeff realized where he recognized Officer Kane from. The words, “I need my space” were the last words that Jeff had texted to his college girlfriend. They were both older, and she had been working out, and had changed her hair, and was using a married name, and was taller in stiletto boots than the flats she wore in college, but it was definitely her. And he knew the rest of his punishment wasn’t going to be any easier.

“Disengaging the autodrive? Mr Miller, you should know better.” With that came three quick strikes from the cane, perfectly landing below the other ones, and if anything they were harder than the ones the robot had delivered. “Did you know you could have killed someone?” chided Officer Kane, before delivering three hard strokes right on top of one another in the crease between his buttocks and upper thighs that bruised almost immediately.

 

Jeff let out a yell and then grunted a “No Ma’am” as best he could. He was sweating hard.

“Six more,” announced officer Kane, “Did you know you’d be punished?” She landed three hard ones barely a second apart across the tops of his thighs creating three more bright stripes.

 

Jeff struggled against the restraints and then succumbed, grunting a further “No Ma’am”.

“Did you know that I have punishment duty on Mondays and Fridays?” Asked officer Kane, before delivering the last three strokes at an angle, intersecting several of the stripes on the fleshy part of his buttocks and causing him to squeal in pain.

 

“No Ma’am, but I do now” replied Jeff. Jeff relaxed a little against the restraints and unclenched his buttocks, exhausted from the ordeal. Then he heard a couple of quick footsteps behind him and felt an immense pain squarely across his backside and extending around his side as the tip of the cane wrapped around and struck his hip. Jeff yelled out as a piece of the synthetic cane snapped off and hit the wall. Officer Kane had used all her strength for that 19th stroke, and had surprised herself a little by breaking one of the so-called “unbreakable” canes.

 

“That one’s from me. Now get out of here,” said officer Kane as she undid the straps, “and you’d better hope you don’t get another punishment from me.”

While Jeff was dressing, he noticed that the spanking robot looked fine, other than that the emergency stop had been depressed. He thanked Officer Kane, gingerly walked out of the station, called the Nikola over to the station steps, and let the autodrive take him home while he lay face-down across the back seat.

Over the course of the weekend, and with the help of some aspirin and good whisky, Jeff’s pain subsided to a dull glow and he felt rather good about the incident. So much so in fact, that the following Monday evening Jeff left work as the sun was setting, disengaged the autodrive on his Nikola, joined the freeway, and pressed the accelerator down until the yellow light came on.

 

Mar 112014
 

 

Readers,

Here’s a sweet little untitled entry to the Future Spank story contest – what a wealth of riches we’ve had with this contest!

– Dana

 

 

It was my final year at high school and we were about to graduate. My teacher was Dana10/93, who is a robot. Robotic teachers have largely replaced humans as teachers because they can teach multiple

subjects as opposed to human teachers who largely specialized in one subject.However she was an excellent teacher and she earned our respect. She got us to call her Miss Dana but that
didn’t stop us calling her “Miss Tin Teacher” behind her back.

She had arranged a trip to New Zealand as part of a cultural exchange and we were learn about the Maori
people and their way of life. Before the trip, we received a lessons on Maori protocols and how to behave
when meeting and greeting them.

The school Jetbus picked Angela and I from our homes and whisked us to Las Vegas International Airport
where we boarded a hypersonic Hyperjet. A couple of hours later we landed at Auckland International

Airport in New Zealand where we boarded another Jetbus and then we disembarked at a Maori village in the city of Rotorua.

As soon as we stepped off the Jetbus we were greeted by a Maori woman singing in Maori. When we

entered the village we were suddenly confronted by a Maori Warrior approaching us waving a spear, poking out
his tongue and challenging me to pick up the branch of a tree that lay on the ground in front of me.

Although all our class had been briefed on the correct way to respond to the Maori challenge, Angela and I

collapsed into gales of laughter before Miss Dana quickly stepped in front of me and solemnly
picked up the branch but not before giving Angela and I an extremely angry look.After the welcome Miss Dana wanted Angela and I excluded from the dinner and activities our Maori hosts

had planned for our class and to go wait on the Jetbus, but the Maori Elders convinced her to let Angela and I

remain with the class and enjoy the hospitality and generosity the Maori people are renown for.

After a delicious dinner which Angela and I rather guiltily ate, we enjoyed the entertainment our Maori hosts had
laid on for us, and then it was time to say good bye to our new Maori friends. Then Miss Dana confronted Angela and I.

“Firstly let me say how I am very angry and disappointed in you two for the extremely rude and totally insensitive behaviour  to our Maori hosts. You have not only let yourselves down but also sullied the good name and reputation of our school and for that you two will be punished”

“I have sent a video of you two’s appalling behaviour to your parents and they have allowed me punish you

both in any way I deem appropriate”. “You are both are to report me for detention at school when we get
back to Las Vegas”The plane trip back to Las Vegas was largely silent for Angela and I as we reflected on our behaviour and
began dreading the detention that was coming. Even our classmates were and angry and disappointed at
us for ruining an otherwise successful and thoroughly enjoyable school outing.

We reported to Miss Dana for detention as ordered. She was dressed in an nineteenth century
school mistress attire and we entered a holographic recreation of historic American classroom.
Then Miss Dana addressed Angela and I :

“I have sent a report and copy of the video to the Principal and School Board of you two’s behaviour in New
Zealand and they have recommended to me that I should not allow you two to graduate. However I have
convinced the them both that is far too severe of a punishment. With both your parents permission,  I will

be punishing you both the way rude and disrespectful children were punished in the novel The Adventures of
Tom Sawyer”.

Angela and my hearts sank. We had both read The Adventures of Tom Sawyer as part of our lessons on

I immediately yelled in pain, jumped up and began frantically rubbing my bottom. Tears began welling in my eyes.
Miss Dana immediately commanded me to bend over the desk again.

“You have completely disregarded my instructions to you about moving and your hands.That will be two
extra strokes. You also failed to count the stroke and thank me. I will now recommence your caning”

CRAAACKK!!! The caning re-started. My bottom felt as if someone applied a red hot branding iron to it.
I began to cry and just managed to whisper “One thank you Miss Dana”

CRAAACKK!!! “Two thank you Miss Dana”

CRAAACKK!!! “Three thank you Miss Dana” I was crying uncontrollably by now.

CRAAACKK!!! “Four thank you Miss Dana”. I could barely speak. I had never experienced anything so painful
in my life.

CRAAACKK!!! “Five thank you Miss Dana”. By now my bottom was a mass of stinging, throbbing and aching
agony.

CRAAACKK!!! “Six thank you Miss Dana”

Suddenly my caning stopped and Miss Dana inspected my bottom and lightly rubbed it. It felt so good and I
thought my ordeal was over. She then walked over to the front of me and spoke to me.

“You have taken your punishment remarkably well but you still have two extra strokes to endure. See if you
can get through it without any extra strokes”

She then walked to take up her position behind me and I heard an ominous “Whooop” as she swished the
cane and I felt the three light taps on my bottom again.

CRAAACKK!!! I howled in agony and just managed to blurt out “Seven thank you Miss Dana”

CRAAACKK!!! My bottom was in so my pain I had to rub my bottom. In the nick of time I just remembered

to whisper “Eight thank you Miss Dana”

Miss Dana patiently waited for me to finish rubbing my bottom. “You forgot my rule about placing your hand on your bottom. For that you will receive an extra stroke. For you sake I hope it is your final one”

CRAAAACCKKK!!! My final stroke was delivered with real venom and and was the hardest of the lot. I
screamed in agony and in between my sobs just managed to say “Nine thank you Miss Dana”
I then slumped over the desk bawling.

I then felt Miss Dana hand as she applied her ointment to my bottom and almost immediately the pain and

welts that have covered my bottom began to disappear. I still had faint red stripes on my bottom when I looked in the mirror at home.

Miss Dana then ordered me to pull up my trousers and to sit down at my desk. I sat down rather gingerly
and then Angela and I continued with the rest of our detention which consisted of us composing an apology
in Maori which we did using a Universal Translator and International Languages Database. We then sent the

apology to the Maori Elders in Rotorua New Zealand.

Mar 012014
 

Short, sweet, and powerful, I think you’re going to like ‘The New Toy’ – another entry in the Future Spank story contest.

– Dana

The new toy

 

My eyes flickered open to the red glow of the morning sun. I rubbed my eyes as usual and stretched. A familiar voice greeted me. “Good morning Ms Anderson. Here is your morning coffee and newspaper. I took the liberity of downloading all of the morning news and events that you usually follow. Would you like your morning update?”  I declined and just held out my hand. Robert, my 6000 series, handed me the digital file.  As I plugged it into my digitizer the morning briefing came online.

 

There was no bad news today as like every other day. It is so much better then it was before. No  rape, no murder and no one being murdered. The new robots took care of that. They were quite good and  were almost indistinguishable from humans. Their only flaw logic.  Emotion is something that can not be programmed in.

 

As I sat and thought about the days task my mind kept wondering. The new 6000 series was supposed to follow every command. They were made to keep their owners satisfied in every way possible.  They were even able to respond and react to sexual pleasure and tonight I was going to test out how well they would respond to something else. I wanted him to give me the spanking of my life. It wasn’t because I was punishing myself or because I had done something wrong, The digitizer located behind my left ear made sure of that.  I was just because I liked it.  There was something about being bent over over by him that I had fantasized about.  I sat down at my computer and I put together several files for me to upload into his system.  I knew once I uploaded everything there was no going back.

 

The ride to the office was the same boring thing.  Cars were fitted with magnetic pulsars  and roads were polarized differently . They took the same technology from a old bullet train that rode on magnetic rails and implemented them into cars.  Getting rid of pollution and the need for fuel all  together.  The office was just about as boring. The one good thing here was that everyone was still human.  I liked running the leading software company in the world. Everyday I get to face challenges that that is what I liked but today  my mind was not in it and the day just seemed to drag on.

 

 

When I arrived home Robert was not there to greet me as usual.  I called for him but he didnt answer. I figured he must be charging.  I hung up my bad and placed my shoes next to the door and started to walk inside When all of a sudden I felt a hand grab my arm.  I turned around in shock to see that it was Robert.  I struggled against him but it was useless.  I might as well have been an kitten trying to escape. He led me to the bedroom and pulled me across his lap. In less then a second my skirt and panties were torn off.  Then it landed,  the first hit.  It felt like fire had torn across my ass and I flinched and tried to get away but it was useless. Blow after blow  his hand landed  first the right cheek then the left. There was no area that was being missed.  I continued to struggle but it was in vane. Tears were streaming down my face  and I pleaded with him to stop. My pleas were only answered by another blow. Before I knew it my struggling had turned into grinding as the blows came faster and faster. I reached my peak  and as I lay drenched and crying across his lap the blows  stopped. He gently lifted me up and began to caresses my face.  I folded into his arms and sobbed quietly. Thank you Robert I needed that. Now delete all files.

 

Then end.

Feb 282014
 

Angel’s Guardian Angel (from the Give til it Hurts fundraiser) entered this fun story for the Future Spank contest – enjoy!

– Dana

“The Spanker” (a satirical homage)
by “Guardian Angel”

He had watched the series too often to count. A Twilight Zone marathon this week. Marathon. A winner in the long run, even though it was prematurely cancelled. Relegated to the network graveyard in 1964. But reborn because all good things do not come to an end.
He was viewing the final-season episode entitled “The Brain Center at Whipple’s”. Not a classic, but prescient for the present year 2164.
The titular character Whipple owned a factory that was in its downsizing phase. Whipple was firing workers and replacing them with machines. In the end, technology led to the undoing of Whipple. Who was bitter and alone.

Like Whipple, he despised technology. He looked to his left, cursing it. The machine. Piece of crap! Two centuries after “Whipple’s” aired, technology was still the bane of his existence.
And “piece of crap” was also an idiomatic expression two centuries later. For him, an appropriate criticism of The Spanker. The inexpensive version of The Spanker that he purchased was of poor quality. And, therefore, was prone to repairs. He called the company to complain. Help was on the way. He cursed the company that manufactured The Spanker, cursed the company that sold The Spanker, cursed The Spanker and cursed The Spanker’s absent repairman.
He was impatiently biding his time until the service representative arrived. He glanced at the time indicator on his wrist for the fifth time.

Fifty-five minutes later, the highly-anticipated chime. He was in a foul mood. When he opened the front door, his eyes widened. Surprisingly, the repairperson was a female wearing a baseball-like cap with the company name emblazoned on it. She removed the cap and issued the textbook apology. But before she could introduce herself, he voiced his first complaint to her.
“Ikea sells crap!”
“Hi! Here for The Spanker. Where is it?”
He indicated to his left.
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is: Ikea sells crap.”
“Yeah, I hear that … often … only recently.”
She fascinated him. She had a no-nonsense quality about her, an openness, an intelligence in her eyes, beauty and wit. What the hell was she doing with a job like this? “This”, of course, was repairs.
The complaints continued.
“Ages ago, Ikea sold crap furniture that had to be assembled. Now Ikea sells crap machinery with a diagram included. Crap furniture, crap technology. Crap.”
“If The Spanker is still under warranty …”
“I purchased this piece of crap last week!” He interrupted her which is what she couldn’t tolerate. He produced the receipt and forced it into her hand.
She thought, Crap, huh. As in, I’d like to beat the crap out of you. Now, now, she reflected, the customer is always right. But I’d still like to beat the crap out of him.
“Yeah, I can see that from the receipt. As it clearly indicates.” He was aware of the sarcasm.
“So, the company will replace it, right?”
“Gotta take a look, first.”

Minutes later, she was finished with her analysis. “There’s nothing wrong with The Spanker. Just wasn’t assembled correctly.” She looked into his eyes. Make me an offer. Nothing is free, pal.
“Can you get it running?”
“Yeah, but it’ll cost you for the service. A faultily assembled product is not the company’s fault, capish?”
She had braced herself for another complaint. “Okay, just do it. But it better work! I’m a lab technician, not a handyman!” The last word was said with disdain. A wicked smile from her, he noticed. I like her. Don’t get a chance to use my bratty nature enough with females.
She thought simultaneously. It’ll work all right. And then I’ll unleash The Spanker on you. You piece of crap!
She had a beautiful smile, though devilish. And she was extremely personable. Additional assets. She enjoyed chatting while working.
“S-o-o-o, The Spanker! A best seller. Said that, way back, spanking was underground. Then technology made the disciplinarians … or spankers … obsolete. Shame.” The last word was intended to be personal. It was what he sorely … literally and figuratively … needed. Discipline.
He was studying her and not her skill as a mechanic. Impressive!! Front and behind! Hair a bit disheveled. Almost wind-blown. “Is it windy outside, or did you use the washer and drier on your hair?” He stupidly snickered. The inappropriate comment disoriented her, and the wrench slipped from her hand.
“Excuse me?”
“Just having fun. No, really. You should have your hair cut professionally. A Tinkerbell look. Without the bun. From Peter Pan, you know. To shape your face. And … darken the color.”
“Y–e–a–h. I’ll consider it.” I will definitely be present when he tries to use The Spanker … to beat the crap out of him.
“Okay, done,” she announced. “Hey, lookie here! A wooden horse! Tell you what, let’s get you on the horse and move The Spanker behind you.” He felt excited at the prospect that she would be a part of product testing.
“Now, I’m only agreeing because we want to see if The Spanker works properly before you leave, right?”
“Gotcha!”
She pictured her future. An image of where she would be in the next half hour and how he would help her achieve her goal. To beat the crap out of him!
“Wait! Full effect, right?” She slowly unloosened and removed his belt. She studied the belt and folded it in half. “Hmm!” She wiggled it back and forth. Not stiff enough … for him. She began to work on his pants and quickly lowered them, almost as if pulling a rug from under him. The speed of the motion disoriented him. His pants fell to the floor. “Step out of them!” she ordered and he obeyed. Good boy, she thought and smiled. “Climb aboard!” Another order.
He raised himself on the horse and maneuvered into a jockeying position. She studied him. “Hmm! Let’s give it the full effect, why don’t we!” She used all the straps affixed to the horse to secure his arms and his legs and his chest.
“Is this necessary?” he asked with doubt and the beginning of fear in his voice.
“Oh, ab–so–lutely!” She felt confident and, as importantly, in control.
She returned to The Spanker and pushed it to a position behind him. She found the box with specially designed attachments for The Spanker. And inserted one. “Hmm!” She started the machine and moved a lever. He screamed at the impact.
“Just as I suspected. The Spanker works, but it’s too intense for you … now. Guess you’ll have to gradually build to a certain tolerance level.” Had he read the entire manual, the instructional booklet would have informed him about tension adjustments. She formulated, and would now enact, Plan B.
“But I was expecting to use it today!!” Said like a disappointed child.
“Well, we might be able to accommodate you, after all.” You piece of crap!
She looked askance. “Hey, is that a lab coat?!” She retrieved it. “It fits!” She extracted her hand phone from her pocket and placed it at a distance. “For posterity. Who knows … someone may be curious about the 22nd century. And we have an artifact. Archived.”
She looked directly into the lens of the phone and smiled with an expression that said, Payback is a bitch, you piece of crap! She spoke authoritatively.
“What we have here is a piece of crap. Correction: two pieces of crap. Won’t show you what The Spanker can’t do. But I will demonstrate what our generation is missing. A good, old-fashioned hands-on experience. First, a warm-up. Something this machine is unable to do.”
She walked behind him. “No warm-up from The Spanker, right? Don’t think so. But a warm-up from this spanker.” With his rear end raised, she delivered a few hard, well-placed swats. “Good thing I play handball without gloves.” He groaned. She looked into the lens and smiled. “He agrees.”
His voice quaked. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Aw! Poor baby doesn’t realize that I only started. Warm-up, remember? Warm-up to be continued … Now!” She lowered his underwear, baring flesh, and swung with rapidity in the same spot. All hits precisely placed. Hey, I’m a natural!
“Are we finished?” The tone in his elevated voice registered extreme pain.
“Yes, … with my hand … for now.” The words were carefully separated … for effect. “I think I’ll test all of the products that Ikea has conveniently provided for us. What have we here?”
The first implement seemed ineffective. No discernible response. She casually tossed it aside and chose another. The smacks ranged from intense to highly intense. His body began to spasm, even when restrained. That’s what I want to see!! “Be still!” she commanded as if addressing a child. Which is how she perceived him. She looked at the lens and shook her head sideways. “Newbie!”
She picked up a hard, wooden object. “Now, take a d–e–e–p breath. Inhale. Hold it!” The intensity and swiftness of the strokes froze his brain. He did remember hearing the word “exhale”. She cooed sweetly and softly, “T–h–a–t’s good.” Pinched his cheeks, studied the affected areas and smiled mischievously into the lens. He mumbled inaudibly. She playfully tapped his back twice with the pain-providing apparatus. “Are you swearing? No swearing allowed!” He had said, “Bitch is crazy!”

By the time she concluded the session, he was as red as a beet. And his face was flushed. She studied her handiwork with the attention of an artist admiring the finished canvas. Even coloration. Mission accomplished: beating the crap out of a piece of crap. Think I’ll quit my day job. Got Ikea’s list of dissatisfied, potential customers. A start. This work fits me like this lab coat. The lab coat! “Mind if I keep the lab coat?” No verbal complaint, but a moan. Or was it a groan? “Didn’t think so.”
After she unfastened the restraints, he almost slithered to the floor.
She extended her left hand, palm up, open. Left-handers were once perceived as sinister. “Two deposits, please. Tribute as a tribute.” He complied. Worth paying her … to depart.
With a spring in her step, she walked in the direction of the door, thanking him for his advice. A makeover would complement her change of profession.
“Oh, and I am, as of now, officially a spanker, not a repairperson.” She remembered the “handyman” and washer/drier cracks. “And, in your case, a disciplinarian, as well, brat. And … when we meet again, which you can count on, you can thank me.” She emphasized the words “count” and “thank” which perplexed him. But he would count and thank her upon command at future encounters.

That day, she and he were transformed. Both realized that technology had severe limitations. It lacked human contact, finesse and an understanding of body language and needs with or without words or sounds. And a wicked sense of humor. Their connection was mutually satisfying. Even though if asked now, he would probably spew expletives and complaints. But he would begin to miss her. That bond between two people had a price. It would again be referred to as “tribute”. A word she thought she coined. It was, however, … without her knowledge … in her ancestral blood.