TITLE    : Quality Control
STORYID  : quality-control
SUMMARY  : Scientists aren't always as dispassionate as they may seem.
AUTHOR   : Cal Y. Pygia@lit
DATE     : 2009-07-10
CATEGORY : bdsm-stories
FLAGS    : 
TAGS     : |quality|sex machine|medical|fucking machine|spanking|female spanking|female submissive|derriere|punishment|male dominant|


"You know why you're here?" Dr. Fanny Fanner, the young brunette in the white lab coat, asked the naked young lady who stood before her.



"You're testing a spanking machine."



"That's right, I'm a scientist, a physicist, and I'm conducting quality control tests. As the subject of one of these tests, you will receive a thorough spanking. It's going to hurt; you will feel more than discomfort. You will experience pain."



The young woman, a blonde, nodded. "I understand."



"Your buttocks will likely be bruised; they probably won't, but they could, be lacerated."



The blonde looked a bit uneasy. She gulped, but she also nodded again. "I know."



"You may experience humiliation. You could be reduced to tears."



"Yes."



"I know you've signed the legal papers, the acknowledgments and releases," Dr. Fanner said, "but I want you to know what you're in for if you go through with this. I'm giving you a chance to reconsider, to decline."



"I'm in," the subject said.



The scientist gave the slender, petite young blonde a pitying look. The young woman was actually quite pretty. She had wide blue eyes; a cute nose; soft, full lips; high cheekbones; a delicate, pointed chin; small, firm breasts with tiny nipples and areolas; a concave tummy; a cleft between her legs (her pussy was bald); trim, shapely legs; and compact buttocks.



She must really need the money, Dr. Fanner thought, wondering why the blonde didn't earn the money she needed by stripping or by performing as an exotic dancer or, hell, even by selling her blood, instead of subjecting herself to what promised to be a pretty painful, maybe even a rather brutal, spanking.



The scientist shrugged. That was the subject's concern. After all, the blonde might be young, but she was also of age. Her signature on the forms was legal and binding. "Come with me, then."



They walked into another room, which was occupied by a shelf of books, a table, a computer desk, and, in the center of the chamber, the machine.



The blonde's eyes widened at the sight of the contraption. It was surreal. It was nightmarish. Nine thick wooden paddles were situated, at equal distances from one another, around the outside of a pole-mounted wheel. The wheel would revolve at a right angle to her buttocks, applying the paddles' strokes at whatever rate of speed was selected, continuing for one minute for every quarter that Dr. Fanner deposited into the machine's coin slot.



Adjacent to the wheel, at a right angle to it, was a sawhorse. Its legs were shaped to resemble those of a horse. Its white torso bore pink polka dots. A sculpted wooden tail was attached to the rear of the piece, stirrups dangled below its chest, and a thick neck with a luxurious, hand-carved mane extended forward, tapering into the steed's head. A friendly face, complete with a smile, like that which might appear upon an oversize child's toy, finished the mount. There was no saddle, but a thick, heavy leather strap hung at the horse's sides; there was a strap for each of the rider's wrists on either side of the steed's lower right front sides, just where the neck began to curve upward from the abdomen; and there was another pair of similar straps to secure the stirrups to the horse's forelegs.



"You're sure you want to go through with this?" the scientist asked.



The blonde didn't look any too certain, but, swallowing her apprehension, she nodded. "I'm ready."



"Climb aboard, then." Dr. Fanner allowed herself a slight smile. "Or, should I say, mount up."



Returning the physicist's smile, the subject positioned herself upon the horse's back, beside the paddlewheel, and Dr. Fanner fastened the leather straps around the blonde's waist, wrists, and ankles.



The machine had three speeds: Slow, Medium, and Fast. Dr. Fanner had to test the invention at all three speeds, which meant that the blonde would be subjected to three minutes of spanking. To the young woman, that might not seem like much punishment, but Dr. Fanner had seen the machine operate, although not, as yet, on a human subject, and she knew the degree of pain that it was likely to produce. At the highest speed, the device would be awful, if not unbearable, for Dr. Fanner, at any rate. Under such conditions, a minute would seem like an eternity.



"I just have to take a photograph," the scientist informed her subject, "and then we can begin. After each part of the test, I will pause to document the results with another photograph."



"Fine," the blonde said.



No doubt, Dr. Fanner thought, the young woman just wanted to get the whole thing over with. If the truth were to be told, the physicist thought, so did she. Quality control was necessary, of course. The machines that she was testing were prototypes, and there was little doubt, by the engineers, that their designs could be improved. The tests that Dr. Fanner was conducting would help them to accomplish this purpose. Still, it wasn't going to be fun to watch her subject's anguish.



The scientist peered through the camera's viewfinder, held her breath, steadied her grip, and snapped the picture. The young woman, she couldn't help thinking, had attractive, even beautiful, buttocks--"callipygian," the ancient Greeks might call them. The smooth, buoyant cheeks were firm and compact; they were also flawless and unmarked--but they wouldn't be for long. Were she a lesbian, Dr. Fanner thought, she could go for a woman as pretty as this young blonde with such admirable assets.



Ensuring that the switch was set to "Slow," Dr. Fanner deposited a quarter into the machine's coin slot. The wheel began to turn, and, watching the action from the side, it seemed to Dr. Fanner that the paddles lengthened as, following the wheel's slow progress, they came more and more into view, casting their shadows upon their lovely targets: the subject's beautiful buttocks.



On "Slow," the engineers who'd designed the machine had assured the scientist who was testing their invention, the wheels would rotate at the rate of one turn every sixty seconds, delivering nine successive swats of the paddles to the subject's bottom during a minute's operation.



However, the wheel seemed to turn much more slowly, the paddles seeming to lengthen inch by inch as the circular structure rotated and more and more of their blades came into view, the first casting a larger and larger shadow upon the silk-smooth flesh of the blonde's firm, round bottom.



The blades were thick and wide, except for the much narrower necks by which they were embedded into the rim of the wheel. As the first paddle delivered its blow to the subject's left buttock, there was a loud CRACK! and the young woman strapped to the back of the horse grimaced, closing her eyes tightly and clenching her teeth. Where the blade had struck, her ass cheeks were noticeably pinker than the surrounding flesh, Dr. Fanner noted, as she studied the subject carefully, pen poised over her clipboard.



The wheel continued to turn, slowly but inexorably, the next paddle finally landing another resounding impact upon the same site that its predecessor had smacked, and the pink color deepened across the subject's buttocks. The blonde grimaced again, turning her head upon the fanciful horse's thick neck.



Dr. Fanner liked the fact that the blades of the paddles each landed in the same location, an effect that, she imagined, would increase the spanked individual's pain immensely, if the victim were subjected to a thoroughgoing session. She noted her observation on the paper she'd attached to her clipboard. "Victim"? She crossed through the word, thinking it unscientific, and wrote, above it, "subject."



The wheel continued to turn, its reports all but echoing in the chamber as each paddle, in its turn, swatted the young blonde's naked, defenseless ass, the color deepening from pink to red as Dr. Fanner looked on, flinching, herself, now, as the thick, strong planks struck the helpless subject's flexing, squirming buttocks. After the ninth impact, the subject's lovely backside was quite red, indeed, and the physicist captured its glowing appearance on film.



The young woman had come through the first full rotation of the wheel with her dignity as intact as it could be, with her straddling a wooden horse, painted with pink polka dots. The blonde had managed not to cry out and had avoided tears. She bore no welts or lacerations--as yet, anyway.



Stepping to the coin slot, Dr. Fanner set the switch to "Medium." She deposited another quarter, and the machine came to life again, its motor humming softly. The wheel, festooned with paddles, began to revolve, more quickly this time. At this speed, it would deliver thirteen swats in the minute's time that Dr. Fanner had just purchased with her quarter--quite a bargain, the scientist thought, for one's money.



The paddles rose, coming full circle, and fell with loud impacts, at regular intervals, as the wheel turned, and the blonde, wincing, rolled her head back and forth across the horse's sturdy neck, gasping, moaning, grunting, and whimpering as each of the sturdy paddles slapped hard against her bottom. Her buttocks became brighter and brighter, the red hue approximating that of fully ripened cherries by the time the wheel completed its revolution, having delivered thirteen merciless blows to its lovely, albeit intensely red, target, and there were tears in the young woman's bright blue eyes.



Dr. Fanner felt sorry for her subject, but she quickly dismissed the feeling, reminding herself that she was a scientist conducting a test. Her subject had been fully advised as to what the research involved, and Dr. Fanner herself had given the blonde more than one opportunity to back out of her agreement to be spanked. There was no reason to feel sorry for her, none at all. Steeling herself, the physicist documented the condition of the young woman's fiery red bottom with another photograph. On her clipboard, she noted that neither welts nor lacerations were apparent.



It was time to adjust the machine's setting and to insert the third coin.



As Dr. Fanner approached the apparatus, she became aware of something curious. She frowned, not knowing what to think of the moisture she felt between her legs. Her vagina had lubricated itself, and, as horror mixed with satisfaction, she realized that, beneath her brassiere, her blouse, and her lab coat, the nipples of her breasts had stiffened, becoming not only erect, but also rather painful. Suddenly, as if her realization that she'd been aroused, unconsciously, by the sight of her subject's suffering, and while feeling both ashamed and excited by the unexpected passion that she'd found within herself, where, she'd come to believe, there was only a dry and dispassionate nature, as sexless and unfeeling as one of the mad scientists featured on low-grade, late-night science fiction movies, Dr. Fanner felt her vagina--her cunt--flood itself, and, she feared, a large stain had appeared at the crotch of her slacks. Thank goodness, the material was black, she thought. It wouldn't easily show the proof of her passion.



With trembling fingers, she managed to move the switch from "Medium" to "Fast" and deposit the next quarter into the coin slot. She stepped back, resuming her station, and watched as, the motor again humming, the wheel began to revolve again, much faster this time. During the minute that the contraption operated, it would deliver eighteen swats to the young blonde's derriere. Dr. Fanner repressed a smile. Eighteen! In a minute's time! What might the pretty young woman strapped astride the artificial horse experience during her ordeal? Just pain? Or would the lovely blonde also feel pleasure? Would her vagina--her pussy, Dr. Fanner corrected herself--become as saturated--as soaked--as the scientist's own cunt had become? The physicist's eyes strayed to her subject's pussy, and, yes! the pretty pink lips indeed glistened with the blonde's juices, although, unlike Dr. Fanner's own twat, her subject's bald labia were not drenched--at least, not yet.



WHAP! The first paddle landed an echoing swat to the blonde's ass, and, Dr. Fanner was delighted to observe, flattened the little bitch's cheeks, forming a deep, if momentary, indentation across the slut's bottom. The furrow rose immediately as the blonde's bottom regained its normal fullness, but the next blade caused another rut across the bitch's ass that, as soon as it vanished, was replaced by the imprint of the third paddle, a process which was repeated each time the next blade slapped the young woman who now writhed and wriggled upon the horse's back, all dignity lost, sobbing and snorting, bawling and sniveling, whimpering and weeping, a thick and steady stream of tears shining upon her grimacing countenance.



Dr. Fanner caught herself. What terms had flashed through her dispassionate, "scientific" mind in observing the effects of the machine upon her subject? She was disturbed, but also, on another, deeper level, delighted to realize that she'd thought of her subject as a "bitch," a "slut," and a "whore," and that, in her mind, she'd referred to her subject's buttocks as an "ass"! She glanced at her clipboard, to ensure that, in her trancelike state, caught up in the joy of watching the little bitch being spanked soundly by the merciless machine, she hadn't committed any such thoughts to paper. Fortunately, she hadn't. In fact, she'd written nothing at all. She should record some sort of observations, she thought--scientific, of course, not personal ones. However, she could wait, she told herself. The wheel was still turning, which meant that the show was continuing, and Dr. Fanner wanted to witness every delicious moment of her subject's suffering.



WHACK! The wheel delivered another paddle's blow to the young woman's defenseless, bare ass, and the blonde cried out, sounding pitiful. Her cry of anguish excited the physicist, and Dr. Fanner felt a rush of wetness between her legs as her pussy released another flood of its warm, feminine juices.



The blonde was blubbering incessantly now, as the wheel continued its relentless revolution, smacking her ass again and again, in the same place, laying down deep indentations across her purpling ass cheeks. Each time, the young woman's buttocks, to their credit, sprang into fullness again, as the paddle passed, the next one coming round to take its place.



Saliva and mucus, as well as tears, made the young woman's lovely face shine in the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs mounted on the room's ceiling, high above them. Her subject's buttocks, Dr. Fanner noted with a smile, were deepening in color, and a few bruises and welts had begun to surface in the discolored flesh. More delightful still, the blonde's pussy was positively drenched, marinating in its own juices.



The wheel continued to deliver its blows, and the young woman continued to wail, her loud, piteous moans and shrieks like music to the physicist's ears. Each cry was a note in a beautiful melody, each gurgle of the blonde's throat a trembling tone sweeter than that of a songbird greeting the coming of the day, each hissing catch of her breath itself a symphony.



The wheel, finally, stopped. The minute, while it had lasted, had seemed an eternity, both for the subject and for the scientist. Now that the test had ended, though, the minute had seemed to last for but a mere second, to the tester, if not to the tested.



Reluctantly, her hands shaking and her fingers trembling, feeling wobbly in her knees, Dr. Fanner photographed the machine's results--an ass that was purple where it was not red, and gloriously decorated with angry welts and a small garden of blossoming bruises. It was a lovely, lovely sight, the scientist thought.



Releasing her subject, Dr. Fanner "accidentally" brushed the young woman's buttocks with the back of her hand, not once, but twice, as she unbuckled the strap around her waist. Each time, the blonde, wincing, grimaced. Her ass must be exceedingly sore, the scientist thought, repressing a very unscientific grin. Unfastening the subject's ankle and wrist restraints, the physicist helped the young woman down from her mount, managing a couple more times to "accidentally" brush against the young blonde's enflamed bottom. The little bitch blanched and looked as if she might leap out of her skin.



Making her voice impersonal and her demeanor professional, Dr. Fanner asked, "Would you like to sit down? Rest for a while before you leave?"



The subject shook her head. The poor thing probably had no idea how she looked with her golden locks disheveled, her face a ruined mask of saliva, tears, and mucus, her ass swollen, red and purple, and her cunt a liquid mess. Blushing, she managed to murmur, "No, thanks," before, her eyes averted, she added, "I just want to go home."



"Very well," Dr. Fanner said. She escorted the young woman to the door that led down the hallway to the locker room, where, the physicist had no doubt, her former subject would opt to skip a shower, to dress as hastily as she could, and to hobble home to nurse her injured ass and her tattered dignity.



At the doorway, the bimbo paused.



Dr. Fanner said nothing, waiting.



The slut gave her a small, weak smile, making brief eye contact. "Thank you," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "I enjoyed it."



Not knowing what, if anything, to say, Dr. Tanner simply nodded, rather curtly.



"If you have any more tests to conduct, I'd love to participate again, as a subject, if, by then, I'm--you know--ready."



Dr. Fanner favored the blonde with a brief, tight smile. "Thank you. Perhaps I'll be in touch." She watched the young woman stagger through the doorway and down the hall. The little bitch really does have a lovely ass, she thought, feeling the wetness of her own cunt and the throbbing of her erect clitoris. Maybe she would invite the slut back, for the next test, which was scheduled in two weeks.



There'd be another test, too, after that, and another, and another.



Dr. Fanner would see to that.



Returning to the spanking machine she'd just put through its paces, she eyed the puddle of pussy juices that the young, hard-bodied blonde with the firm, tight ass had left behind, a sort of gift or memento to her mistress, Dr. Fanner. The machine, the scientist thought, had performed admirably, and the horse was a cute idea that made the use of the contraption all the sexier and more fun.



She looked forward to testing the next machine, which, already assembled, awaited her pleasure.



Perhaps she'd use the little blonde bitch again, or maybe she'd want fresh meat, someone new, a virgin, as it were, rather than a veteran pain slut. The blonde had a beautiful ass, no doubt, but there were other women--millions of them--as young and lovely as she, with asses just as divine. Now that, quite surprisingly enough, Dr. Fanner had discovered her latent sexual attraction for members of her own sex, she might as well play the field, as it were. The blonde bimbo was cute, but so would any other young bitch be whom the scientist chose to use as a subject for her tests.



Yes, she thought, as she took her leave of the spanking machine to visit the locker room and wash her cunt juices away in the steaming water of a long, hot shower, there remained more than a few spanking machines to test, and there were plenty of other quality women for her to control.

