It is the year 2504. Mankind has made enormous strides in every field of technology. Way back in the twentieth century the silicon chip had allowed personal computers to flourish. In the next century virtual reality games became the most common form of entertainment. It was not long before CP devotees invented games in which they could cyberspank and be spanked. Initially they would spank crude cyber "naughty boys" (and girls) on their computer screens. Then came the invention of the imaging room, where you could project a realistic 3-D image of a youth, bent over a punishment horse, flinching, yelping and pleading for mercy as you swished a cyber cane across his cyber bum. Hard accurate strokes gained you points, poor misaimed strokes lost you points and the computer gave you a general evaluation of your performance. Alternatively, a player could wear a special helmet with knobs over the appropriate place on his skull (where the brain picks up messages from nerves in the buttocks) and subject himself to a spanking. By stimulating that area of the brain a computer could simulate a real spanking of various degrees of severity depending on the predilection of the player. The wonderful thing was you could get the mother of all spankings and still not have a single scratch on your bottom. You could be cyberspanked a hundred times a day and get all the pleasure of a real bare-arse spanking without the problem of marking.
In the year 2333 scientists discovered a way of travelling back in time. To be exact, it was not strictly travelling because you never moved anywhere. Nor could you take part in or influence events which had happened in the past. That was a foolish 20th century notion, which was impossible to realise. What scientists discovered was that every nanosecond of history in the space-time continuum left behind a long-lasting imprint, which took millennia to fade away. It was as if the whole cosmos were being continually recorded on CCTV. All you had to do was to access that 'CCTV' and you could watch what happened at a particular time and place. At first it was only possible to "read" events which had happened a few days before. Even so, crime figures were reduced to near zero by 2340! No criminal, no matter how clever, could evade detection. All the police had to do, if they were quick enough, was to do a time-reading to find out whodunnit. As the decades and centuries rolled on, time-reading technology became increasingly sophisticated and by the mid-26th century all crimes and historical mysteries had been solved as far back as the 11th century. Before about 1050 things began to get murky and indecipherable. By the 26th century everyone in a middle income bracket could afford to do a bit of time-tourism at least as far back as the 14th or 15th century. Even the cheapest, trashiest time-readers on the market could take you back to the 19th century. It was great fun to walk around with figures like Shakespeare or Napoleon, hear their most intimate conversations and experience (by simulation) their innermost feelings.
Well, you can imagine the impact of all these developments on the world of CP. It had long been possible to spank cyber "naughty boys" and be spanked oneself as a "naughty boy". Now you could also travel back in time and, for example, watch headmaster Thomas Arnold in action, thrashing delinquent boys at Rugby school back in the 1830s. These scenes could be connected by the time-reader to a computer, which could simulate the thrashing. With the aid of a special helmet attached to the back of the chair from which you operated your time-reader, you could experience an exact replica of the thrashing those boys were receiving at just the same level of pain. If you had a fetish interest, you could dress up in 19th century school uniform and pretend to be one of those boys with a virtual image of Thomas Arnold in the room lecturing and birching you.
Jamie McCutcheon was a typical 16-year-old boy in the mid-26th century - inseparably attached to his super VX2700 time-reader, which he had got a couple of months ago as a birthday present. It was a swelteringly hot summer's day and he had stripped to his underpants. He had spent hours sitting in front of his time-reader touring the past. He was very interested in his family tree and had traced his ancestors back nearly a millennium to the 16th century. He had enjoyed spot-visiting some of them (choosing at random particular times in their lives to use his time-reader to spy on them). What naughty secrets some of them had! Nothing could be hidden from the gaze of the time-reader.
Jamie knew the McCutcheons were a wealthy family of wool merchants in 19th century England. They traditionally sent their sons to be educated at Rugby. Jamie homed his time-reader onto Rugby School, March 20, 1834. This was the 16th birthday of his remote ancestor Thomas McCutcheon. Jamie wanted to see if and how it was celebrated. The time-reader 'landed' inside the assembly hall at Rugby school. Assembly had just finished and the boys were trudging off to their lessons. Jamie homed into various 5th forms until he found the one Thomas was in. The form master, Dr Kineholme, was in the middle of doing the roll-call.
"Liddell!"
"Here, sir!"
"Long!"
"Present, sir!"
"McCutcheon!"
No answer.
"McCutcheon! _d_a_m_n_ you, boy!"
Jamie looked at the scene, intrigued. Rows of spotty teenagers turned their heads this way and that looking for the missing boy. There was a look of thunder on Dr Kineholme's face as his huge bushy black eyebrows knitted together. Things did not bode too well for young Thomas McCutcheon! Dr Kineholme furiously scribbled a black mark beside McCutcheon's name and was just starting to read the next name when suddenly the door burst open and a breathless red-haired youth appeared, clutching his stomach. He had obviously been running like the blazes to avoid being late.
"Here sir!" he gasped.
"What is the meaning of this, McCutcheon? This is the second time you have been late this week and the tenth time this term."
"Sorry, sir! It's my birthday. I was reading a letter from mater and lost track of the time."
"How old are you, lad?"
"Sixteen, sir!" said Thomas brightly.
"Well, then, we must think of an appropriate way of celebrating your birthday" said Dr Kineholme with a nasty smile. "Come to my study this afternoon at five o'clock sharp!"
"Yessir!" replied Thomas, suspecting that he was going to receive a birthday present which he would rather do without.
Roll-call ended and the lesson began. Jamie was absolutely spellbound. He could not wait to see what happened to Thomas. He fast-forwarded the fine-tuner on his time-reader to 5pm that day. It took him some time to find Dr Kineholme's study as it did not have any name on the door and it required a lot of skill to focus the time-reader on exactly the right place. Eventually Jamie's efforts paid off and he was all set to watch the scene. The minute hand crept up to five o'clock on the large grandfather clock ticking away in Dr Kineholme's study. The master himself was at his desk, scratching away with his quill pen, marking his form's Latin homework. In one corner stood a large bucket containing six or seven fresh birch-rods specially prepared by the school gardener for the chastisement of wayward boys.
There was a respectful knock on the door the exact moment the grandfather clock chimed. Thomas knew from bitter experience that it did not pay to be either early or late when summoned to Dr Kineholme's study.
"Come in!" thundered the master.
In shuffled Thomas with his head duly hanging in shame.
"You know why you are here, boy?"
"Yes, sir. I arrived late for lessons for the second time this week."
"And the tenth time this term. Do you have any good excuse for this outrageous behaviour?"
"No, sir."
"Then what is to be done with you?"
"Please, sir, I need to be corrected for my fault."
"Exactly. And how do you propose that should be done?"
Thomas glanced nervously at the birch-rods standing conspicuously in the corner of the room. He knew perfectly well what the reply should be.
"I need to be soundly birched, sir."
"How soundly, McCutcheon?"
Dr Kineholme was really milking this one! Thomas shuffled awkwardly on one leg. He wished the master would simply decide his punishment and give it to him.
"Come on, boy! Speak up! How many strokes of the birch should I give you?"
Thomas gulped. The pain from even three or four strokes was enough to make the average boy scream for mercy and it was obvious that Dr Kineholme was going to give him far more than that.
"Ten, sir?" he said tentatively.
"Excellent, my dear boy! Ten it shall be" said Dr Kineholme.
Thomas breathed a slight sigh of relief. It could have been a lot worse.
"And a further six for so rudely bursting into my classroom! That makes sixteen in all. An appropriate punishment for a disorganised sixteen-year-old schoolboy, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, sir" said Thomas, wincing. He had never been punished as severely as this. The most he had received previously was eight strokes of the birch from the headmaster, and that was bad enough. Now he was to receive double that.
"Kindly remove your breeches and underwear, young man, and place yourself over the horse."
Thomas meekly obeyed and pushed his shirt up his back so that his buttocks were fully exposed. Meanwhile Dr Kineholme went to the bucket in the corner and removed a birch-rod, which he swished a couple of times to get rid of any excess water. He then proffered the rod in front of Thomas' face and the boy kissed it submissively. The master paused for a moment, waiting for Thomas to say the appropriate words.
"Please, sir. I am heartily sorry for being repeatedly late for my lessons and I humbly implore you to correct me."
Jamie was agog. His penis had swollen to a size he never thought possible and his balls ached with sperm. He paused the time-reader and scrabbled around for his helmet. He wanted to experience the scene for himself from Thomas' point of view. His VX2700 time-reader was a top-of-the-range machine. It could re-enact not only the pain of the swishing, but the breeze through Dr Kineholme's window, the scent of the birch rods and even Thomas' body odour, which was pretty strong as boys in those days only had a bath once a week and did not change their clothes very often.
Thomas shifted the front of his body slightly in order to present his buttocks at exactly the required angle. Dr Kineholme grunted approvingly, then stood back, took a short run and brought the birch crashing down on the youth's lovely plump white buns. Thomas did not make a murmur other than to say 'One, sir', but Jamie, who experienced an exact replica of the pain through his helmet, let out a yell loud enough to awaken the dead: YEEEEEEOOOOOOW!
Jamie was amazed at Thomas' fortitude. Unlike Jamie, not a sound came from his lips and his buttocks hardly quivered. Jamie put the time-reader on pause and considered whether he really wanted to experience any more birch strokes! In the end, his curiosity and his rock-hard erection got the better of him and he clicked the button again.
SWIIIIISSSH! Again, other than 'Two, sir', hardly a sound from Thomas, but Jamie had to bite on a rubber mat to avoid crying out. Tears were already welling in his eyes. Boy, those nineteenth century schoolboys were tough! He was glad sixteen-year-old boys in the 26th century did not have to suffer such brutal punishments. However, at the same time he realised that this birching was a terrific turn on. The sight, the sound, the smell and the sting had already brought him close to orgasm. His penis, now enormous, stuck out through the slit in his underpants.
SWIIIIIISSH! This time a slight gasp issued from Thomas' mouth and he clenched his buttocks slightly. Meanwhile the rubber mat fell out of Jamie's mouth and he uttered an ear-piercing scream, his face contorted in agony. At the same time he reached for the button to turn off the feeling mode on his time-reader. He did not mind watching the event, but he decided he had had enough of getting first hand experience of the pain! Unfortunately, his helmet had somehow jammed on his head and the off button was not responding. The only way to stop the time-reader was to remove the plug from the mains, but the helmet prevented him from stretching that far. Jamie realised with horror that, like Thomas, he was going to have to suffer this birching whether he liked it or not.
By the sixth stroke even Thomas was becoming distinctly uncomfortable and as for Jamie... Well, he was nearly hysterical, blubbering and yelling as if he were being pulled part by a pack of wolves. By the tenth stroke Thomas was sobbing and expressing endless contrition for his lateness to lessons. His buttocks were a mass of criss-cross welts and drops of blood were starting to form. At least Jamie's bum was still as lily-white as it ever was, even if he was feeling the same pain.
Dr Kineholme was obviously an expert with the birch. Even a tough lad like Thomas could not easily stand such a thrashing. Jamie was amazed at how he held his position without any restraining straps. Dr Kineholme had got through two birch rods and was now reaching for the third. It was a fearsome instrument of correction - 12 fresh switches bound together with twine. Dr Kineholme himself was a thin, wiry man about 40 years old and through years of practice he knew how to use a birch to maximum effect. SWIIIIISSSH!
"Aargh!! Aargh!! Eleven, sir!" yelled Thomas, though his cries were drowned out by the much louder yells of his remote descendant!
"Ah! I see the lesson is getting through to you, McCutcheon!"
"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"
Thank you?! Jamie could not believe his ears. His remote ancestor was THANKING this monster for beating him! What submissiveness to authority! Jamie would have told the man to f*** off before he had even received the first stroke. Times had certainly changed!
By the thirteenth stroke Thomas' buttocks were bleeding profusely and blood was trickling down his thighs. Dr Kineholme calmly wiped it off with some gauze. Jamie was horrified, but neither Thomas nor his chastiser seemed particularly fazed.
"Excellent! A proper thrashing always draws blood. I never think a boy has had a proper flogging otherwise."
"No, sir. Thank you, sir. Please continue with my well-deserved punishment, sir."
The last three strokes followed fairly rapidly and the punishment was over. Thomas kissed the birch again, shook the master's hand and said thank you. Then he was given some ointment to spread on the cuts and a dressing, told to put on his underwear and breeches again and dismissed. Jamie breathed a sigh of relief as Thomas went out stiffly through the door. Jamie had been reduced to a quivering, blubbering jelly by the simulated birching. Thomas, by contrast, had by and large kept his dignity.
Jamie's relief was short-lived, however. At 5.30 there was another knock on the door and a small boy called Barrowe appeared. "Please, sir. I've come to be birched", he murmured plaintively.
"Oh no!" thought Jamie. "The time-reader will still be focussed on this room! I'm going to have to suffer a second birching!"
If only Jamie knew! Back in the 1830s five o'clock was the time when a steady procession of boys would come to be birched by Dr Kineholme. In his cupboard stood another three buckets, full of fresh birch-rods. By the end of the day Jamie experienced for himself the birchings of seven more delinquent pupils at Rugby School! He would have experienced another three, had it not been for his 18-year-old older brother, Austin, who unexpectedly came home a couple hours later and unplugged the time-reader. At last Jamie's agonies were over. His eyes were sore with weeping and his throat was like sandpaper from all the yelling he had done. There was also a sticky wet patch in front of his chair where he had shot cum four or five times!
"You've got some explaining to do, little bro'" said Austin, with a wicked twinkle in his eyes.
Like this story? I may write a sequel if you write and tell me you enjoyed it!