Colburn Kansas is a small town in the middle of Iowa, where Winters are harsh, and Summers are hot. The closest movie theater is 37 miles away. The closest Library is 22 miles away. There are no places for boys and girls to "hang out". It is a peaceful, quiet area of spreading farms, red faced farmers, and children who by and large cause no problems.
This was all true until the Masters family moved in. They came from Chicago, and lived in a large farmhouse on the edge of town, which they rented from the widow Han_c_o_c_k_. They were not farmers. Widow Han_c_o_c_k_ rented the farmland out, and it was worked by the two farmers on the sides of the farm. Nobody in town knew how the Masters family supported itself. They seldom left the house. Gretta Garbow, the town busy body and clerk of courts, said she thought that they were on the witness protection program. Well, that started rumors, rumors like you just wouldn't believe. There were so many rumors going around that Sheriff Jim Long drove out to "meet the folks". He was surprised to find a quiet family, with three children, two girls who were about ten and twelve, and a boy who looked like he was fourteen or so, it was hard to tell with these skinny city kids. Sheriff Jim introduced himself, and welcomed the Masters family to the community. Notwithstanding his attempts at conversation, he left as mystified as when he arrived. He did learn that the children were home schooled by Mrs. Masters, and that was only when he asked if they were registered for school yet. He wasn't happy as he walked out to his old Ford cruiser. He sighed. There wasn't any way to make people become talkative, at least until they did something wrong.
Little Ben Fleer had seen the Masters once when they came into town. He recognized quickly that the Masters boy looked an awful lot like him. Both had dark hair, both were thin. The difference was that Ben Fleer had been in and out of trouble all his life. He had learned how to play the game, after several run ins with the law, one of which resulted in the Sheriff taking his big belt to his butt right there in the courtroom. He was twelve then, and since then, he had become a model youngster..at least as far as society knew. He lived with his mother, who was a waitress at the truck stop grainery. His father had left them years ago. Due to his mother's long hours at work, he was pretty much free to do whatever he wanted to. As long as he wasn't in trouble with the law, his mother just frankly didn't care. Oh, that's not to say she didn't love him. No, she just was in over her head. She had kept him in line with a few spankigns when he was small, but the last time she tried, he just laughed at her, and left the house, to not return for two days.
Ben Fleer was happy to see the Masters boy. Very happy. The day after Ben saw the other boy, a mysterious series of petty crimes started to happen around town. Most were small, and folks didn't think much of them, a shirt stolen off a line here, a window broken there. It wasn't until Mrs. Jacobs, the school teacher, found her cat "Fluffy" hanging from a tree with a noose around his neck and a typed note that said "goodbye cruel world", that people stopped, and started to take notice. A series of vandalisms started to take place, and they got worse and worse. Trip wires were set outside of the old folks home on Cherry Street. Someone broke into the Thompson's house in Main, and took all of Theresa Thompson's panties, leaving the eleven year old in shock.
They say there is no such thing as coincidence, and the folks in town had figured that out pretty quickly. Soon the Sheriff was visiting the Masters home again, this time to ask questions about the series of "crimes" that were going on. He asked to look around, and found twelve pairs of panties under James Master's bed. The boy looked shocked, as did his family. Sheriff Long took the panties right to the Thompsons, and Mrs. Thompson positively identified them as her daughters.
Armed with a search warrant, the Sheriff and his deputy, Don Fife, turned the Master's house upside down, finding more evidence to incriminate the boy, whose only defense was that he had been at home and not left the yard. Sheriff Jim brought charges against him, and the visiting juvenile judge, the honorable Harrison Dodge held a hearing. "The court finds the defendent James Matthew Masters guilty, and orders that he receive punishment as described in the Iowa statute 99-01245." To the boy, he said "that means, young man, that you will be held here in the county jail until Saturday afternoon, when you will be taken from your cell, and placed in the mobile disciplinarium, where you shall be given one stroke of the paddle for each of your thirteen years, and two strokes of the strap for each of your years, and three strokes of the cane for each of your years. May God have mercy on your butt." (This brought a cheer from the courtroom).
Small cities could not support the elaborate (and expensive) Disciplinariums that larger cities could. Oh, a juvenile could (and had on many occasions) be brought to a larger city, and whipped, the "owning" city having to pay for the privelege. Somehow, that didn't sit well with the farmers, who ordered, and paid for a mobile disciplinarium, which had been delivered two months ago, and only used four times. This would be the first time in this county, and it made the front page of the three page "Weekly Warrior" newspaper. A description of the device was given, and folks read it with both glee, and awe. Ben Fleer read it several times, and grinned more and more as he read it. "The boy girl miscreant will be placed inside the chamber, where they will stand on two yellow footprints, then raise their arms and grab two yellow handgrips. The machine, which is fully automated, will take over from there, and the child will be positioned, and disciplined as imputed by the computer which drives the unit. As a preventative measure, to keep youngsters from wanting to commit a crime, the new unit is a glass enclosed, fully heated and cooled small mobile building. The glass giving any witnesses a first hand account of the workings of the machine, along with sounds picked up by seven microphones."
"Man, what a show" Ben said. On the Saturday in question, there were 237 people attending the "session" as the paper called it. It was a carnival atmosphere as the crowd formed. Mrs. Manson was selling pieces of her homemade pie, with ice cream, and the Rev. Dickerson had the ladies of his parish going around selling lemonade. Oh, it was a circus. Suddenly the noise abated, as the young boy was brought out from the jail. He was wearing a white towel around his waist, and held tightly to it. When the Sheriff stopped in front of the machine to read the boy's sentence, he seemed to pay no attention to what was being said, his face turned towards the machine. You could see his eyes move over the sign on the rear of the machine "Mobile Disciplinarium - we get to the seat of the problem". He blushed as the Sheriff walked him to the machine, and removed the towel. He stood there, naked, as the crowd stared at every part of him, his skinny chest, his thin legs, his surprisingly nice looking buttocks, and, of course, for those who were interested, his penis and balls. His ballsack hung low in the heat. The only hair he had "there" was a small patch of matted brown hair just above his penis, no larger than a boyscout's arm patch. His penis betrayed his lack of facial emotion, as it slowly came to life, and stuck out staight and true, all 4 1 2 inches. Of course, this part was a mere formality, a necessary evil if you will. But for the boy, it was arguably the worst part.
He was pushed into the machine, and made to stand on the foot pads, with arms in the handholds. He was then left inside the glass room, visible to hundreds, as his arms were pulled up, and fastened to the arm restraints, as were his ankles. He was bent over a padded bar, his legs scant inches apart, as the machine started it's preliminary workup. A laser probe "marked" the territory that the machine would visit. Soon, a television monitor lit up in front of the boy, showing him clearly the same thing that everyone else was now interested in, and that was his unmarked little white butt. For viewing convenience, the Sheriff had placed two 65 inch TV sets atop the truck, to give an uninterrupted view of the boy's bottom. A number (13) lit up on the screen, and almost immediately, a clear plastic (Lexan) paddle with sixteen holes in it moved from the side of the machine, and cracked down across the boy's butt cheeks, flattening them in the process, before it slowly moved back. The boy screamed, the crowd cheered. People were poking the shoulders of their neighbors, saying "that'll team him". As slowly as the first stroke retracted, it was replaced with a paddle coming out from the other side. That paddle cracked down, followed almost immediately by the first. The paddles alternated "CRACK"
"CRACK" until the thirteen strokes were given. Then, they returned to their slots. Now, there was movement (besides the boy's head, which shook up and down with his cries). The machine lifted the bar that the boy was bent over, and pulled his legs apart. You could see that his buttocks were a bright red, except for his untouched crack area which was now gaping open, showing his surprisingly pink anus above his dangling sack. There was a movement again, and this time the number "26" showed on the screen. Two straps were now in position. They cracked down, hitting at the summit of the boy's butt, the straps being placed so that their tips bit into the unmarked crack are. Again, they alternated. "CRACK CRACK" as they worked their way down. Perfect pink marks showed against the previously white flesh, those marks quickly turning red. The straps moved slowly down the boy's backside, so that by the time they were at number 20, the straps were just above the boy's anus. The crowd hushed, even holding their applause, as the straps bit into the boy's back hole, one from each side. To say he screamed would be an understatement. He howled as he was "bit". The straps moved down, reaching the oh so sensitive area of his perineum, the area between his anus and scrotum. The straps stopped, just short of cracking him in the balls. Again there was a pause.
The boy's butt was a brilliant red, and his head hung low as he was given a rest between "sessions". Soon (all too soon for him) the TV lit up again, this time showing the number "39". He was moved, his legs going back together, almost in a standing position, as two canes came into action, and started their march against his buttocks, this time starting from the bottom up. When they reached the top, he was moved so that he was about half bent over, and they once again marched up his butt. The final series were given with his legs actually lifted off of the ground, his face near his knees as his super tight bottom skin absorbed the cane strokes.
It was over. He was helped to his feet, tears and snot running down his chin, dripping onto his now shriveled penis and legs, his chest heaving, his buttocks a deep red, almost blue color. He would be taken to the infirmary, and allowed to rest for one day, constantly being monitored, before being released.
Ben had watched the whole thing from ten feet up, in an oak tree. Unobserved, he watched the whipping that should have been his being given to another boy whose only crime was that he looked like Ben. Ben had his pants unfastened, and was holding onto his own organ, holding a cloth in front of it. He saw the boy turn and face the crowd, his little penis on display, and..well, nature took ahold of him. He cried out and shivered, losing his hold on the tree, but not his hold on his little fellow, which was now streaming forth. With nothing to stop him, he landed atop a cement slab dedicated to those heros who had given their lives during the "wars". He landed head first, breaking his neck, and dying instantly. As a crowd formed around him, it was apparent what he had been doing, as his surprisingly stiff member was still spasming, even in its last throes. As they were waiting for doc to run over, someone noticed the cloth he was using to collect his load. It was a pair of panties, with the initials "T. T." in them. Mrs. Thompson who was standing nearby, saw the panties, and recognized them. "How did he get those? I thought the other boy had taken them. How????"