(Author's note: This story forms the 7th part of Crymaker series. If you have missed the other parts, I would suggest you read those first. All rights reserved.--Nathan)
Cheating the Crymaker - Part 7 in a series
Carl Benson was staring at the ceiling. The 17 year old was laying on the hard cot, his two wrists strapped to the rails on the side of the bed, to keep him from touching himself. Not that he was in the mood anyway. God it was noisy in this place. He could hear the air running through the vents, hear the toilets anywhere in the cellblock whenever an inmate had to piss, and there was an almost constant clanging of the bars from somewhere in this _s_h_i_t_hole. His mind was racing. Thinking over the past few days it was all kind of a blur. His dad had promised him he wouldn't be here, that he was going to get him off and that jerk Shooter wasn't going to cause him any problems. The law firm was supposed to be the best, and they did make Shooter sure look funny when they had him crying again on the witness stand. Carl smiled with the memory; he had to admit that he had gotten some satisfaction knowing the cameras had caught Shooter bawling his eyes out as he sat there and their questions had raked him over the coals. His lawyer and his dad had been so confident he had let himself feel safe, and when they finished taking apart Shooter he thought they were right. Then the _f_u_c_k_ing jury had said he was GUILTY, and God, after that, everything....EVERYTHING....had just sort of come apart. He hadn't seen his dad but twice since then. Maybe he was avoiding his cellblock? All Carl really knew for sure was that in less than 9 hours they were going to strap his ass into the _f_u_c_k_ing Crymaker and Shooter was going to be pressing the _f_u_c_k_ing buttons that would decide what kind of an ass he would have left. It was so unfair! And the _f_u_c_k_ing sentence, 34 smacks with the _f_u_c_k_ing paddle---God if Shooter gave them all to him he wasn't going to have an ass left. _f_u_c_k_! The kid was such a crybaby, and _d_a_m_n_, now....oh _s_h_i_t_, why. It just wasn't fair. All his friends had gotten was a little something in the principals office, and while he had heard that Shooter got to watch that little party, still, it had to have been a LOT easier than what he was having to face, and they were just as guilty as he was. What a way to begin the senior year. Great. Man, this place sucks!
Suddenly, he heard the distant clanging of a cell door....open....closed....then footsteps. Click...click...click....click...CLICK...CLICK getting closer. _f_u_c_k_---its 3a. m.....what the _f_u_c_k_? Dad! God...Dad!
Randy Benson looked over his shoulders and scanned the hall one more time, then quickly inserted the computerized keystrip and pressed in the override code to unlock his son's cell door. He didn't have a lot of time. He quickly walked into the cell, up to his son's bed, and unlatched the right cuff holding his son's wrist to the bed's siderail.
Carl: "Dad...what....Oh GOD Dad...I'm so glad to see you! Help me....please. ..." and then, as the right wrist came free he said "Oh wow...Dad that feels good"
Mr Benson: Shutup....quick. Jerk. Now _d_a_m_n_it....JERK!
Carl: "What???? Dad....what are you........"
Mr Benson: "I said SHUT UP. Quick, don't play games, JERK YOURSELF OFF NOW. Quick. Hurry _d_a_m_n_it....you don't want to _f_u_c_k_ing blow your wad on stage do you?"
Suddenly, Carl understood. Oh God, he had hoped his dad was coming to give him a reprieve, to get him out of here.....to somehow rescue him. Instead....he was standing there in a rush and demanding that he masturbate himself. Oh God....he never admitted to anyone he did that! Now...he was to perform?????
Mr Benson "QUICK. I mean it son....get jerking...get it UP NOW.....and make it quick"
Carl was in shock....but he knew his Dad was right--most guys shot their wads when they were paddled and he sure didn't want to do that! So, with some hesitation, he took his free right hand and pulled his penis out through his boxers. He wasn't excited at all. But he forced himself to start rubbing it....moving his hand on it....up and down its length, willing it to rise to this occasion. His father would look down the hall, then back to see how it was going. God he felt so embarrassed, so humiliated.
Mr Benson: "Son....you get that prick of yours moving and hurry it up. I'm way out on a limb here...so DO IT. If you hadn't taken the _f_u_c_k_ing shorts we wouldn't be here right now. Just HURRY!"
Carl hand was flying...and slowly his dick was growing because of the friction. He stared at it...saw his pubic hair pushing its way out of his fly, like a small garden growing at the base of his root. As he rubbed his own _c_o_c_k_, working his teenage meat, sliding the skin up and down his _c_o_c_k_, it began to grow in size and girth and the end began to enlarge. With his own father standing there watching him jerk himself off, he just wanted to die and be anywhere else. But he did what he was told, and while he would never have admitted it to anyone, the truth of the matter was that his right hand was well practiced, and it began to work its experienced magic.
Mr Benson: "Come on boy....CUM. Quick. Milk yourself dry and make it fast."
Carl's right arm was working fast now.....pumping his meat. He could feel the tightening in his balls, feel the pressure and the pleasure building. God...his dad's eyes were staring.....staring at him as he watched his own son work his erection. Oh GOD. Carl's mouth was open slightly, eyes staring at his dad, as his hand pumped his manhood for all he was worth. As the feeling began to peak, to reach the point where he would release his seed, he stammered out "OH _f_u_c_k_KKK...I'm GOING TO CUM DAD."
His father suddenly reached down and placed a handkerchief he had been holding directly on the top of his son's _c_o_c_k_, squeezing it over the tip of his son's _c_o_c_k_head, just as the boy's seed began to explode from its tip. As he watched his own son's _c_o_c_k_ pulsate and the youth's body spasm with his orgasm, he squeezed it firmly as his son flooded into the rag, grunting as he ejaculated. The semen soaked the rag, coming from the very depths of the boy's nuts and spurting with an intensity that only a young adolescent can deliver. With the rag being held by his father his ejaculation was the most humiliating thing he had ever done, and as he shot, as he felt his dad's hand desperate to catch every drop he was spewing out, he started to cry just from the humiliation of it all. His dad looked nervous, and as his son pumped the last of his load he quickly took the cum-soaked handkerchief and shoved it back into his pocket....then took his son's right hand and quickly secured it back into its restraint. He was all business.
Mr Benson: "_s_h_i_t_can the tears....QUIET!"
Next, he reached into his other pocket, and pulled out a syringe.
Carls eyes went wide open, sniffling and redfaced..."Dad? What...what's that?"
Mr Benson: "Its OK son." As he started to push the needle into his son's arm, he said "This is a shot of Hydrocodone. It's a narcotic painkiller, and with this you won't have to suffer from the punishment apparatus. See these?" he said, as he held up 4 small pills for his son to see.
Carl "Yeah...I see em."
Mr Benson: "Good. Listen, when they come to get you tell them you're thirsty. They will let you have a drink, so just drink this glass of water. I'm setting it by the sink and next to your toothbrush. I'm gong to disolve these 4 pills into the glass now and these little guys will get you out of most of the pain that gets past the shot. Understand?"
Carl: "Yeah...oh Dad...I'm scared."
Mr Benson: As he dropped the four pills into the plastic tumbler and set it on the cell's sink, he said: "Its going to be OK. The next time I see you I'll be at the machine. Just don't freak, its not going to be running at max so just handle it. And listen here son, with the way I've got the machine set up, and with you having just jerked yourself off, we might get through this. The pains not going to be that great, and with the shot and pills just stay calm and don't embarrass yourself. Just don't get too high or stupid and start laughing at the thing as it paddles you, OK?"
Carl: "Yeah....wow dad. Thanks."
Mr Benson: "We'll fix 'em, the only embarrassment you'll suffer is having everyone see your dick. And we'll get over that." Then, he turned and quickly exited the cell, the clicking of his shoes fading in the distance as he exited the cellblock, with the cum-soaked handkerchief still in his pocket.
8 hours later.......
Randy Benson stood waiting by the machine. It looked innocent enough, a mechanical wonder of the modern age, capable of taking the most hardened teen and putting him in his place. Normally he loved looking at it, amazed at its intricacies, and he always got a thrill out of watching it teach these wayward teens that if you strayed and played---you paid. The metal shined, even glistened in the lights. The restraints were waiting, open and unlatched, the lock boots also waiting and open, almost as if the whole machine itself was eager for its next prisoner. The hydraulic paddle was a wonder in itself, solid oak, sanded smooth and varnished until it literally glistened. Even looking at it you just knew it would hurt--the dense oak board was 1/2 inch thick and 5 inches across, and measured a full 3 1/3 feet in length. It always struck fear into anyone who saw it, and he loved it when the prisoners' eyes would spot it as they were being strapped in, just knowing it was waiting just for them. Normally, he loved to listen to the sound when the machine initiated the firing sequence, the initial subtle click as the solenoid opened the hydraulic valve releasing the 3000 psi hydraulic fluid to do its work, followed by the 'BANG' as the board started moving at a speed so fast the eye couldn't follow. He loved the blur; he loved the CRACK more as it smashed into the teen whose ass lay waiting, his ass forced into a waiting position, all perked up and in position to receive it, almost as though it was eager for it, begging to be turned to a color of cherry red. And most of all he loved their reaction....eyes wide open with the shock, the realization of the pain beginning and the pain to come, followed by the jerk as they thrusted against their bonds struggling for a release that would not be. Then, always after the paddle had hit them, as they stood with their eyes filling with tears they could never stop, was that beautiful little humiliation ring. He loved that most-of-all, that little sliding ring, as it worked their _c_o_c_k_s and forced them to hump the machine. God he loved the thing! As the head guard he had been lucky enough to personally strap more than 60 young juveniles into this machine, and had watched every single one of them so humiliate themselves that he got hard just thinking about it. They always cried----they always begged---they always shot their wads and the crowd always laughed. Normally, he laughed louder than anyone.
But not today. No, today everything seemed different. The machine was suddenly a monster, looming before him, its valves and hydraulics and servos waiting to punish his own son! That's what it was---just a nightmare! His own son....his own flesh and blood, was even now being brought up to be strapped into it. No! All he could do was make it as easy as he could for him, and try and keep him from humiliating himself, and in turn his family. The other guards had smirked at him this morning, silently laughing at him because HIS BOY was getting it. _d_a_m_n_! He had covered all the squares he could. He had taken a real chance last night, but hopefully the 3am jerk session would help keep his son's hormones under control, and the painkillers might keep him from begging too loudly. He had checked the master control settings....normally set for the weight and age of the individual receiving the paddling, and had taken the risk of turning them down to a reduced setting. He hoped it would not be too obvious, yet with his own son going through the protocol he had to do whatever he could. His supervisor had initially wanted him to take the day off---but he had insisted, and his boss had luckily relented. The drugs---well, that was certainly a risk too....but God....without them his son didn't have a chance, and he couldn't just let them whack him for something the other boys had been able to avoid. No, he was doing the right thing....yeah, he was and he knew it.
Things had to start improving, because up until now nothing had worked out as he had planned it. He had tried to get Carl off, and that had been an expensive failure with the best law firm in the state. He could have died when he heard the guilty verdict! He had tried to get a reduced sentence, and instead the judge had given his son the max. He had tried to get a limit on the witnesses, and even that had failed when the judge had said that everyone in the gym class had a right to observe the consequences of what his boy had done. And finally, he had failed to get the Hanson kid from being able to obtain his revenge....he had desperately wanted him out of the picture, but the judge had recognized him as the single victim in the assault, and as such, he now held the sole chance for any mercy his boy could hope for. Even now, as he looked out across the auditorium, he saw the 35 kids there watching, snickering in their anticipation of seeing one of their own publicly paddled. And there was the Hanson kid, right in the front row, his fingers next to the keypad that would literally control the fate of his son. Next to him was the boy's mother, and his sister too; yeah, the _d_a_m_n_ judge had let the whole family come watch. And...oh _s_h_i_t_---there was Harding---the _d_a_m_n_ state administrator. What the _f_u_c_k_ was HE here for? That wasn't good---no, having him here wasn't good at all, but at this point there wasn't anything he could do about it. As he peered through the crack in the curtain, he heard noises, and then, turning around, he saw three of the other guards coming into the room, with his son Carl between them.
Carl was blabbering....tears streaming down his face! He looked bad----he was begging and appeared to be a slobbering kid out of control! What the _f_u_c_k_?
"Please.......mama......please.....I need my mom....don't do this....please....help me....no.....nooooooo, please...."
Mr Randy Benson was surprised to see his son, crying already even though nothing was happening. Not being a doctor, he could not have known the implications of the combined drugs he had given his boy. Much like a person depressed with too much alcohol, the teen was not in control of himself. The tears were flowing already, and his eyes, even as glassed over as they were, were flowing wet with tears and the dilated pupils made him look even more small and more vulnerable than he was. As they hooked him into the machine, Carl's dad could do nothing but stand out of the way. His boy was struggling, but his efforts were not coordinated, and he looked almost drunk in the way he was moving. _s_h_i_t_! Had he given him too much? As they strapped him in the boots and hooked his wrists into the restraining cuffs, the boy was just babbling like a 10 year old. God he looked little. He wanted to scream at him to stop...to start acting like a man and handle this. Instead, he watched his crying boy babbling like an idiot and looking like a fool. Oh God!
Carl glanced over his shoulder and saw the paddle board, and at that he started really bawling like a little kid. He was definitely dazed, and the other guards noticed it. While they might have suspected he was on something, they knew that wasn't likely and besides, they didn't exactly love the head guard Randy, and so there was a certain amount of extra satisfaction from watching his boy come apart as they started strapping him into the state punishment apparatus.
After the boy's feet were locked into the boots and the wrist cuffs were secured, the machine began to move the boy into position for the removal of his clothes. As he was being positioned, he struggled and cried louder, but was soon standing spread-eagled, hands above his head and feet apart. The guards then started with the scissors, and with a practiced precision started cutting the boy's clothes off. When his pants came free he started screaming....aware of his nakedness and begging for his mom. Suddenly, his boxers were off, and he was totally naked. One of the guards glanced over at his dad, staring from the corner of the platform, and allowed himself a thin smile as the head guard squirmed. The boy was in shock----forced naked---for the first time in his life. He looked so scared.....tears streaming down his face, already humiliated and nothing yet happening. His arms were stretched wide over his head, the dark pit hair was wet with sweat, his body odor rich and permeating. His dick was limp, with its mat of pubic bush in a small concentrated patch above it. As he was held standing, forced to face the guards in front of him he was totally aware of his predicament, and the tears continued to flow freely down his face. Then one of the guards held up the rubber humiliation ring in front of his face and said "Hey boy...here's something to really cry about---hope you like it!" As he watched, the guards squirted baby oil onto his _c_o_c_k_, as well as the ring, and then stated sliding the ring down his shaft.
Carl looked down and watched....begging..."OH GOD...please.....mom please......don't.....please....leave it alone.....DAD...D--A--D....help me please!!!!"
The guards never hesitated, and as they worked with the ring and the boys _c_o_c_k_ it didn't take them long to get him hooked into it. As they were hooking up the rods and attaching the flyweights, the boy was struggling and the ring was in motion almost from the second it was attached. He was a teen out of control....still bawling like a baby and now thrusting almost continuously; literally humping the machine. As the two guards looked at him, and then at each other, they were amazed at the boy's struggles and lack of coordinated control. His hips were flying, bobbing his ass up and down, and in turn forcing the sliding ring to move the length of his oiled shaft, pistoning himself. As they watched, the teenager's _c_o_c_k_ sprang to a full erection.
In the mirror, the reflection of the boy's ass bobbing up and down sent shockwaves down Randy Benson's spine. God--his kid was humping the machine like a crazed teenager with his first girl, his balls visible and literally swinging between his legs. It was a nightmare, only a nightmare that seemed to be getting worse as he watched! Why couldn't his boy just relax and STOP moving for God's sake?
As Randy Benson watched, Kurt Harrimon leaned over to his son and gave him the required "last speech". He couldn't hear the words, but he knew what he was saying, as it was the speech he normally gave himself. Kurt was letting him know he would received the first half of his punishment, and then would have his 3 minutes to apologize, if he wanted. After that, the Hanson boy would decide how many more cracks of the paddle he would get. He couldn't hear the words, but he could see his boy listening, crying continuously as the words were delivered. Then, Kurt finished, and he just picked up the last sentence of what he was saying....."Enjoy the ride." _s_h_i_t_---those were the words he always left them with, and to hear his own words being delivered to his own boy caused him to shudder inside.
Then the guards left, and he followed, not by choice but because he had no alternative. He hated leaving his son, in fact leaving his bawling son to await his fate was the hardest thing he had ever had to do. As he glanced over his shoulder before he too left the room, the last thing he saw was his boy's ass bobbing up and down, and the oiled soaked _c_o_c_k_, stiff and hard, jutting out and up, bobbing for all the world to see! _f_u_c_k_!
Suddenly the loudspeaker came to life: "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...CARL BENSON, MALE, AGED 17, HAS BEEN SENTENCED BY THE COURT OF BRINRICK COUNTY TO 34 STROKES ON HIS BARE BUTTOCKS FOR HIS CRIME OF ASSAULT TO DO BODILY HARM. FOLLOWING THE FIRST 17 STROKES, THE PRISONER WILL BE GIVEN THE OPTION TO SPEAK, AFTER WHICH THE SOLE VICTIM OF THE PRISONER, MAY INPUT THE NUMBER OF STROKES HE FEELS ARE STILL DESERVED, IF ANY. THE VICTIM MAY REMAND ANY PORTION OF THE REMAINING SENTENCE. ADDITIONAL STROKES CALLED FOR, IF ANY, WILL THEN BE ADMINISTERED. PUNISHMENT WILL NOW COMMENCE."
As Michael Hanson, seated in the front row heard these words his heart started racing. His entire body was flushed....scared and nervous, and his hands were sweating like they had never sweated before. Then, as he watched, the curtain parted and there was Carl---standing with his arms held wide over his head, and his legs spread wide and open, exposing his erection for everyone to see. There was a ripple of laughter from his classmates, and as he watched Carl he saw he was babbling like a baby, tears streaming down his face and his entire body struggling against the bonds that held him exposed.
One of the guys behind Mike leaned over and spoke to him: "Geez Mike, at least you didn't break down until they paddled you. This wimp's bawling and it hasn't even started yet."
Michael's faced flushed scarlet....the reminder of his ordeal shocking him to the core. He said nothing, just tried to focus straight ahead and not start crying himself. Oh God he wanted this to end, for Carl, for him, for everyone!
Then, slowly and methodically, the Crymaker began to force Carl into a position in preparation for his paddling. As the tears flowed down his face, everyone watched him bend forward, stretching his arms out and moving his hips up, then up a little bit more, perching his ass into the air almost as if it was eagerly looking for the paddle. His butt jutted up in the air, his white ass and swinging balls visible in the mirror, his face leaning out towards the crowd. As he cried and struggled, the machine slowly parted his legs wider, and as he bucked his hips and thrusted into the machine, his actions portrayed him as a wild boy who seemed to be literally _f_u_c_k_ing the machine he was strapped into. Then, suddenly and without warning, Carl's body shuddered, and he ejaculated! A wave of laughter rocked the auditorium, and as the boy on stage squirted a line of semen out and across the platform; simultaneously there was a muffled Bang, followed by a SMACK. As the paddle smacked into his bobbing ass, the line of semen splattered up and then down, followed by another squirt and then another as his dick jerked from his movements.
The laughter was intense, and everyone there it seemed was enjoying it---everyone it seemed but Michael and Carl's dad. Instead, Michael was watching, unmoving, a line of tears formed at the edges of his eyes, a few running down from the corners, and the sounds around him almost more than he could take. He closed his eyes tightly, but the sounds permeated into his consciousness. Randy Benson closed his eyes too---not able to watch the humiliation of his son squirting on stage, even before the paddle had made its first stroke. God---why?
Bang---SMACK. As the strokes of the paddle began to impact Carl's ass, the people in the room that were familiar with the machine knew something was wrong. The paddle was moving slower than normal, the intensity of the Bang was much less than normal, and the CRACK was missing from the impact of the board meeting ass. No, something wasn't right, and Michael knew it was different, and the guards knew it was different, and Mr Harding knew it was different. For the boy in the machine, the tears flowed just the same, and although he had been crying continuously long before the first stroke had hit him he didn't seem to be suffering from the blows and paddle firings. In fact, even as the blows reined upon him, and even though he cried a little louder and a little more intensely, his ass, while slowly becoming noticeably pink, didn't seem to be turning red at all. No, it lacked the normal fiery color that had become a standard to watch for, and the boy's reactions, while tearful, lacked the desperation that most prisoners exhibited.
Tears were flowing down Carl's face non-the-less, and he was a red faced kid that was acting like a 10 year old. And his dick! Thrusting his penis continuously, pumping himself into the machine, the oil soaked sliding ring moving up and down his _c_o_c_k_. You could see the glazed look in his eyes, the panting of his open mouth, the boy's nipples tight and pointed. As his balls drew up tight under him, visible in the mirror, he screamed "Oh noooo....oh mom.....oh Dad....oh _s_h_i_t_tttt" as he began to pulsate again and then, once more, long white strings of jism began to shoot out of the length of his teenage dick....arcing across the stage for everyone to see. Bang--SMACK...his ass bucking forward, his dick pumping, a crying boy humiliating himself in front of his schoolmates while everyone watched. He was aware of it happening, aware of his dads face with its look of horror and embarrassment, and aware of the laughter as it rocked the auditorium. As he squirted his seed for the second time in only a few minutes, he was also aware of the applause, and with it he just wanted to die. He had no dignity, none. And as he emptied his balls in front of his schoolmates, they applauded him as if he was putting on a show. He just couldn't seem to control himself! God!
Suddenly, everything stopped. The laughter of the crowd slowed, and even his dick just twitched a little, with a long thin string of clear goo running from its tip. Still, out of control, Carl babbled like a baby boy, even as he was aware of his schoolmates watching.
Then, the loudspeaker crackled "17 STROKES DELIVERED...PRISONER HAS 3 MINUTES TO SPEAK"
Suddenly, the stage microphones were activated, and Carl's panting could be heard reverberating from the loudspeakers. His crying was loud too, and he struggled to get it under control. He couldn't talk...he tried to talk, but his words were slurred and his drug clouded mind couldn't think of anything to say. Every sound the boy made, every whimper, every movement, was amplified and echoed out over the loudspeakers. Suddenly, as the room grew quiet, everyone straining to see if he was going to apologize for what he had done to Mike, Carl began to pee. The boy's bladder just opened, and a long stream of yellow piss flowed out of him while everyone watched in shock....a continuous stream flowing out and onto the floor. Bright yellow....intense. In total embarrassment he peed, and as the urine flowed for almost a minute the stream turned into a puddle and the puddle slowly enlarged until part of it worked its way to the edge of the stage and began to dribble down the front. The microphones picked up on the sound of his peeing, and so the splashing sound of the boy's piss stream rocked throughout the auditorium as everyone watched it happening. The laughter started and grew, and soon was a roar as the teenagers in the auditorium watched one of the school jocks crying like a baby, losing all self control and pissing himself like some kind of barnyard animal.
Then the loudspeaker crackled "TIME LIMIT IS UP---VICTIM HAS 30 SECONDS TO TYPE IN HIS VOTE FOR ADDITIONAL PUNISHMENT DESERVED"
And with that announcement, the stage microphones were deactivated, and thankfully, finally, the sound of the pissing that the boy was delivering was silenced. All eyes turned to Michael Hanson, everyone wondering the same thing. What would he do? Michael had suffered terribly, in ways that most of his classmates were only beginning to understand. It was obvious to most in the audience that even in spite of Carl's embarrassing self-induced performance, he had certainly gotten a very lucky break as far as the machine went. In fact, Mr Harding had already spoken to one of the guards, directing him to recheck the machine settings to insure they were correct. He couldn't change what had already been done, but he could make sure the boy got the rest of it the way he was supposed to. Michael Hanson was aware he was being watched. He knew that his chance to make Carl pay for what he had done was now. He didn't know why, but he knew for certain that Carl had gotten off easy up until now, and he also knew that Mr Harding had taken steps to change that. He had overheard him discuss the machine's settings with the guard, and he was totally aware that the only chance to get back at Carl was at this very moment. His Mom squeezed his hand, and a boy behind him whispered "Give it to him man." Yeah, it was now or never, and Michael reached for the keypad and entered his input without hesitation...
For Randy Benson, he was so mad at his son he could hardly stand it. He had gone way out on a limb, WAY OUT, and his boy had made a complete fool of himself anyway. He had cried like a baby the entire time, shot his wad twice like he was some kind of porn star, and then pissed himself in front of everyone! _s_h_i_t_--and his ass wasn't even red! He had noticed Kurt Harriman talking with the state administrator, and he had noticed afterwards him checking the settings on the machine, resetting the dials back to the state prescribed settings. _s_h_i_t_. His boy was in for it now. As he watched the Hanson boy enter something into the keypad, he braced himself for the worse.
Then the loudspeaker announced "TIME IS UP---VICTIM RESPONSE RECEIVED--ADDITIONAL STROKES TO BE DELIVERED: 1"
Instantly, and without hesitation, there was a tremendous BANG--CRACK that rocked across the auditorium...then sudden silence as the Crymaker delivered its first real and only stroke into Carl's 17 year old ass. The impact of the oak paddle had rocked the entire machine, burning its way into the teen's ass and instantly leaving a mark that glistened red in the mirror. With the single stroke properly applied, Carl's eyes had flown wide open, and even drugged, the pain was so intense that it burned its way into his consciousness. With the single stroke, Michael Hanson had sent him a message, and Carl received it loud and clear. He realized too that it was over, that Shooter had spared him, and his own victim was forgoing revenge and replacing it with mercy. As the curtains began to close, Michael Hanson stood up, and began to slowly walk out of the auditorium. It was instantly obvious to everyone that Carl had been spared a true punishment, with Michael's single stroke he had showed everyone that the paddle had been rigged, but was now fixed, and yet he had purposely released him nevertheless. As much as Michael Hanson had hated Carl and what had been done to him, he hated the Crymaker more, and with that act of mercy suddenly everyone, Mr Harding too, had realized the injustice that had been done. With the single smack, Mike's sister realized what her brother had been through....his mom stared at her son with amazement at the strength he had had, the lack of vengeance shining like a beacon of honor filling her with pride. Mr Harding too had been moved, and with that single stroke, that single BANG--CRACK, he realized that Michael Hanson had chosen to send only a message; instead of seeking a justified revenge. In fact, there was no revenge at all; instead he had chosen to let his tormentor go free.
As Michael turned and started up the long aisle of the audutorium, one of his classmates slowly stood and faced him, and as Mike passed him by the boy began to applaud. Someone else, recognizing the strength and character of Michael and the suffering and injustices he had had to endure over the past six months, matched the applause. Then another boy stood, and then a girl, and then another. One by one, Michael's classmates stood, and slowly, very slowly, an applause began to ripple across the auditorium, filling it with the recognition of a boy who had triumphed over a machine. Michael would never be the popular boy he had once been, but his classmates had recognized him for his courage and they realized the injustices he had suffered, and in doing so they gave Michael something back he had lost---they gave him their support, and in doing that, they gave him back his honor and his hope for a better tomorrow.
Mr Harding was moved...and as the state administrator in that moment he did an extraordinary thing. He decided that Michael had suffered enough, and putting his arm over Michael's shoulder, he told him so. He promised that he would personally delete the remainder of the boy's probation and in doing so remove the threat of the Crymaker from his life forevermore. Together, with Michael in the middle, Mr Harding and Michael's mom walked up the aisle and exited the auditorium. As they left the building and walked out into the afternoon sun, a fall breeze was gently blowing, with the yellow birch leaves floating in the air, shimmering in the radiance of the exquisite afternoon. It was one of those beautiful days that linger in the imagination long after it is over.
That might have been the end of the Crymaker, and the injustices of that day would be investigated and policies and procedures would be modified to insure they never happened again. But Carl Benson and his dad were not the end for the Crymaker. No, it would take one other young man before the courts would get involved and shut it down. It turned out that the young man wouldnt be all that special, and yet what he did and the way he did it was very special indeed. His name was Cody, and he was barely 14....
[Author's note: I hope you have enjoyed the series so far. I have appreciated those readers who have written and made suggestions for the story to date. It is through your inputs that I have been motivated enough to continue. -- Nathan@yahoo. com]