Please refer to previous two stories of this series.
Brian sat on the hard plastic, naked from the waist down, watching until his number was finally shown on the display in the Discipline Center. There were seven boys waiting and watching with bulging eyes as the detectives carried and shoved him into the building. Judicial punishments were given priority, and they only got to see the him there for a short period of time. Brian looked over at them with teary eyes, and to a man (boy) they were all grabbing their crotches. Before this experience, he would have thought that they were being rude, but he knew now that what they were experiencing was a normal prelude to punishment. Seeing a naked boy in front of them to add to their fears was just icing on the cake. The door opened with a hissing noise, and a girl walked out. She couldn't have been more than six or seven, and had snot running down her face. She had on a little dress which was hiked up in back. She walked out rubbing a quite red pair of buttocks. Her panties hanging from one of her hands. Waiting outside were what appeared to be her parents. Her mother was dabbing her own eyes, her father had a stern look about him. As the door opened, you could hear the man speak. "I hope you learned your lesson, young lady. I won't have that kind of an attitude from you any more." The girl ran past him and almost jumped into her mother's arms.
Brian was brought back to reality as he was lifted up and carried through the door by the detectives. The boys in the outer room gasped as they saw his butt as he was hauled through the door. Once inside, it was easier for Brian to get ready for the machine, he only had his shirt to pull off. He did so, and almost ran into the machine...certainly not because he missed it, but because he did not want any more penalty strokes. He stood on the yellow marks, and lifted his hands, as the machine fastened his wrists and ankles. The oh, too familiar large screen lit up, and he was shown in his nakedness as he stood there, hands over head, totally controlled by the machine. He was pulled forward, over the padded block, his arms straight out in front of him, his legs staight out behind him. The camera switched angles, and was now looking directly down onto his bare, red, blue and green buttocks. A clamp like thing dropped down and landed inside his butt crack. It soon pulled his left cheek down, and away from it's brother, leaving his right cheek standing upright, the inside of the buttock cleft was wide open. He couldn't see what was happening, but he did see a number appear on the screen. That number was 50. It blinked on and off, until a whirring sound, and a distortion of the picture, followed by his throaty scream signified the first stroke had landed. He didn't know what he had been hit by, but he knew it hurt..oh, how it hurt. He screamed. Of course no sound was heard outside the soundproof room. The number dropped to 49, and once again his flesh was fried by powerful mini strokes. It felt like he was being whipped with a live electric cord. Over and over the thing bit down into his right buttock. Over and over, and over, and over. It did not stop. He could see his buttock, and the cleft int he middle had turned a dark red, and that there were a few tiny spots of liquid. He didn't know if that was sweat, or blood, he only knew he was in anguish. This thing did not stop, it just continued, coun! ting dow n, counting down, whipping every square inch of his right buttock. The counting ended, and the brace like thing pulled away, leaving his poor right buttock to join its brother. Now on the screen, he saw that his right buttock was a deep red, with many blue streaks, while his left buttock was merely red, albeit an awfully sore looking red. What amazed him was the right buttock looked to be about two sizes bigger than its brother. He was still accosted by waves of burning pain. The machine adjusted, and for the first time, he saw what had been hitting him. It looked like very flexible brook of some sort. Later he would learn it was the latest thing in artificial birch rods. Until that time, he had never heard of such a thing.
The clamp now pushed down on his bottom crack again, and this time pushed hard against the newly "birched" buttock, allowing access to the other. He tried to squeeze his buttocks together, to protect the left one, but the clamp seemed to have sharp burrs on it so that when he attempted to squeeze, they bit into the already swollen right buttock. Once again, the number showed on the screen. Once again, he went through a living nightmare as he was birched over every part of his poor left buttock. For whatever reason, this seemed to go faster, and he soon found himself panting and drooling onto the leather cover of the table as the clamps lifted away. He had received one hundred birch stikes, and he was hurting!
The machine pulled him upright, and then released him, telling him to face away from the machine, and lift his hands once again. He was in a daze, and ready to fall over. He missed what the machine had said until he saw the clock go from "9" to "10". The penalty strokes! He hurriedly pushed his hands up, and looked at the clock as he did so. It showed "12". He gasped. He wondered why he was facing away from the block, when he was lifted and placed upon it. A padded bar dropped against his abdomen, and slowly his legs were lifted up straight, and then back over his head, lifting his hips up off of the table and hurting his back in the process. He was staring at his perineal area (between scrotum and anus) when a thick black thing whipped down, and cracked right into his buttock channel. It hit just next to his scrotum, leaving a terrible welt as it did so. He screamed. The heavy thing then hit again, perhaps an inch lower. The third hit directly into his stretched open anus, only to be repeated by strokes four and five. Then, it "walked down his crack", for four strokes. There was a whirring, and his legs were pulled out away from his head, spreading wide what he knew was already stretched to its limit. A sickening "THUD" filled the air as the thing hit again in his perineum. This time, it took a while to bother to lift off, and he could see it. It was black, apparently made of rubber, and easily as big around as a grown man's thumb. It paused, lifted, and blasted down into his opening again. This time, it buried itself inside his hole, causing searing pain as it did so. As if to add insult to the injury it had just left, it raised up again, then tapped down, up and down atop the opening, a tapping like a British school master might give before caning a boy. A warning as to where the stroke would land. He screamed. It lifted. It hit in such a way that it not only went into the opening, it buried itself there, and the infernal machine left it there!
The lights came on, and the TV monitor went blank. He waited to be lifted into the release position. It didn't happen. The black thing started to tap again, then lifted and placed another hole digging stroke inside him. He couldn't even scream it hurt soo much. Then again, and again. He passed out.
The authorities said it was a one in a million glitch in the system. He had received seven strokes in his bottom hole instead of one. He actually got a letter of apology from Panasonic Ltd of Canada, who had manufactured it. He had to spend three nights in the prison informary with an ice pack shoved up his back hole. He didn't remember that, as they had him sedated. He was released to his mother, who didn't say a word to him. Even when he tried to apologize, she said to not even speak about it.
Three weeks later, when he was feeling better, he turned the TV on, and it was on the discipline channel. His eyes bugged out as the machine spanked a big boy with a paddle. You could see the boy's face, with it's tears as the camera flashed from his face to his butt. Brian was shocked. His mother had known.
Months later, he discovered a recorded disc in her drawer, marked "Brian's spanking". He never looked at it.