Quality Control Ch. 05
by Cal Y. Pygia©
It had been easy to sell the engineers on her idea for a spanking machine that would incorporate all the best features of the many prototypes that had been created from their designs while, at the same time, eliminating the flaws that had become evident during the quality control tests that Dr. Fanny Fanner had conducted upon the contraptions. It hadn't been as much of a cinch to convince the comptroller, Kenneth Stanford, though. He was loathe to part with the additional funds the engineers would need to design the machine, that the machinists would need to construct the machine, and that Dr. Fanner herself would need to test the machine. He'd refused to release the money unless the research team could persuade him that the cost would earn a profit--and a sizable one at that. In other words, Vice-president Stanford had to be convinced that there was a marketing plan for the product and, further, that it was an effective one.
Dr. Fanner had smiled upon hearing the vice-president's response to her idea, which she had proposed to Spank-o-Matic's president, Bob Mattick. The president outranked the vice-president, of course, but there was no way, as much as Mr. Mattick himself liked the physicist's idea of combining the machines' best features into one design in which the flaws of the others' were eliminated, that he was going to defy his comptroller. He had too much respect for Mr. Stanford's knowledge and abilities as the company's money man to countermand or second-guess him. Instead, the chief executive officer had told the scientist, "Sell Kenneth, and you've sold me."
Oh, she'd sell him, all right, Dr. Fanner thought, using the sex appeal of herself, her girlfriend Debbie, and three other women who'd served as the subjects of the previous spanking machine tests, a blonde, a redhead named Vivian, and a Halle Berry look-alike named Sandy. At the time of the first experiment, Dr. Fanner had been too by-the-book to ask for her subject's name, but she'd since learned, from checking the file of paperwork in her office that the blonde bimbo's name was Becky. The five of them, Fanny, Debbie, Sandy, Vivian, and Becky would join forces, as it were, to sell the spanking machine to end all spanking machines.
In fact, that was what they intended to do this very morning. That's why they'd gathered in the anteroom outside the chamber in which the engineers and mechanics had worked together, all weekend, without pay, on their own time, using scrap metal and spare parts from their own houses and garages to assemble a makeshift version of the wonderful machine they had in mind. That's why the women were naked, too, all of them, Dr. Fanner included.
Any minute, Kenneth would arrive, in his immaculate three-piece suit, two or three underlings in tow, to offer Dr. Fanner and her team a one-time chance to convince him that there was gold, as it were, in erotic spankings delivered by mechanical means. When he did arrive, he and his entourage were in for quite a shock--and quite a lovely one, at that, Dr. Fanner thought, amorously eyeing the bodies of the young beauties she'd spanked on previous occasions until their red bottoms were decorated with welts and bruises and the women themselves had been reduced to tears. If they could sell Kenneth, they'd have sold Bob, and the president had promised to share the profits with everyone--engineers, mechanics, quality control expert, and even the test subjects--if the project went forward. A lot was riding on this test of the rude prototype, and Dr. Fanner, like the rest, was hopeful of its success.
The previous machines had been assembled in the anteroom. The crude prototype of the new one occupied the inner chamber, where tests normally were conducted. Dr. Fanner wanted to start by showing Kenneth how the previous prototypes operated. Then, in theory, at least, he'd be even more impressed by the operation of the deluxe machine, even in its rough, unfinished form. For this reason, the previous test subjects each occupied one of the four earlier machines.
Becky, the blonde, was strapped to the back of the white horse whose back and sides were painted with pink polka dots. Next to this whimsical mount, nine thick, wooden paddles were situated, at equal distances from one another, around the outside rim of a pole-mounted wheel. As the wheel revolved at a right angle to her buttocks, it would apply 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.
Vivian, the redhead, lay prone upon a stainless-steel tabletop. Her shapely legs, bent at the knees and extended upright, were strapped to poles formed by the upward extensions of the rear table legs. Her arms, extended along the front legs of the table, were secured by straps around her wrists. Her buttocks rested beneath the machine's four rubber paddles. Attached in staggered pairs, one of the two on either side of the roller would strike Vivian's left buttock, while one of the other pair, mounted on the right side of the roller, would strike her right buttock.
Debbie, Dr. Fanner's brunette girlfriend, stood upon the low, flat platform of her machine, her ankles strapped against the bottom of the steel beam that connected the base of the machine to the upholstered bench over which the dark-haired woman was bent. A small steel shelf projected from the far side of the bench, and Debbie's hands rested upon this surface, strapped in place by the leather restraints around her wrists that were attached to the shelf's upper surface. Between her feet, a small box was situated, to which two long levers were attached. The top of each lever broadened into a paddle. The lengths of the two paddle-mounted levers was such that the paddles were level with the cheeks of Debbie's buttocks.
Sandy, the black young woman, was also in place, with her biceps bound to her thighs so that she'd assumed a near-fetal position, and her hands were bound behind her back. She was suspended, by cords that passed under her armpits, over an electric fan. Spatula-like paddles were attached to the ends of the fan's blades so that, turning with the fan's blades, they'd strike her buttocks, which hung directly above them.
Seeing the four women strapped to their machines or, in Sandy's case, hanging from the ceiling on a yoke or harness of cords, naked and helpless, made Dr. Fanner's cunt gush and her clit throb, almost painfully. These women were lovely, and memories of their spanked asses, glowing red under the merciless paddling they'd received at her hands, as the mistress who'd set the diabolical machines in motion, subjecting each of the women to three minutes of hellish punishment, brought the scientist to the brink of orgasm. Dr. Fanner wiped herself with a white terrycloth towel.
Seeing her do so, Debbie called to her, "Keep that thing handy, honey; something tells me we're all going to need it before our little demonstration's over!"
The other women laughed, but there was an undercurrent of nervousness in their mirth, Dr. Fanner thought, and well might they be a bit on edge. They had plenty about which to be anxious, after all.
"I'll keep it right here, next to my heart," Dr. Fanner replied, draping the towel around her neck so that its ends hung between her breasts.
The door to the anteroom opened, and Mr. Stanford, accompanied by a couple of prudish-looking junior executives and two secretaries, both women dressed in a matronly fashion, entered the room. Immediately, the secretaries gasped, and the executives' eyebrows rose.
"What's the meaning of this?" Kenneth demanded, staring wide-eyed at the women's nudity.
"This is an outrage!" one of the toadying junior executives cried.
"I never!" the secretaries shouted in unison.
"Well, maybe you should," a familiar voice suggested.
Everyone turned at the sound of the speaker's cultured tones.
"Mr. Mattick!" Dr. Fanner squealed, delighted at the president's presence. "I'm so glad you could join is."
"Call me Bob, Fanny," he corrected her. "We all go by our first names around here; you know that."
"We weren't expecting you, Bob," the outraged junior executive stammered.
"Mr. Merrick to you, Johnson."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Merrick."
"What are you doing here, Bob, if you don't my asking?" Kenneth said.
He smiled at Dr. Fanner and the other women, acting as if seeing women naked at his company's headquarters was an everyday affair and not in the least unusual. "I want to make sure that Fanny and her team get a fair hearing, Kenneth."
"Thanks for coming," Dr. Fanner told him.
"I wouldn't miss it," he assured the physicist. Then, directing his attention to the members of his comptroller's entourage, the president said, "You can get back to work, since the loveliness of these young women offends you."
The secretaries scampered toward the door.
"You, too!" Bob barked at the junior executives.
Hastily, they also made their exits, leaving Kenneth and Bob alone with Dr. Fanner and her naked subjects.
Bob smiled at the young beauties. "Now, what have we here?" he asked Dr. Fanner.
"To give you a better idea of each of the preliminary designs' best and worst features, I thought I'd repeat one minute of the operation of each machine. Then, we will demonstrate the machine that the engineers and mechanics hope Spank-o-Matic will finance."
"You built a prototype, despite my--" Kenneth began, looking incensed, but the physicist cut him off. Looking to the company's president, she explained how the men had given up their weekend off, to work, on their own time, building the prototype out of their own materials, using their own tools.
"Very resourceful!" Bob said. He looked at his flummoxed comptroller. "Wouldn't you agree, Kenneth?"
"Very," the vice-president mumbled, glaring at the scientist.
"Let's get started, shall we?" Bob suggested.
"Delighted," Dr. Fanner agreed. Without ceremony, she activated the first machine, to which Becky was strapped, and, ensuring that the switch was set to "Slow," the researcher deposited a quarter into the machine's coin slot. The wheel began to turn, and, the paddles seemed to lengthen 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,'" Dr. Fanner explained to the observers, "the wheels rotate at the rate of one turn every twenty seconds, delivering twenty seven successive swats of the paddles to the subject's bottom during a minute's operation."
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, Becky's ass cheeks were noticeably pinker than the surrounding flesh.
The blonde gasped, moaned, and writhed in her restraints.
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. Becky grimaced again, turning her head upon the fanciful horse's thick neck.
Becky's gasps and moans turned to yelps as the paddles struck and struck again. She grunted and cried out as the spanks continued, on and on.
Continuing to turn, the paddles' reports all but echoed in the chamber as each, in its turn, swatted the young blonde's naked, defenseless ass, the color deepening from pink to red. Dr. Fanner noticed that both Bob and Kenneth flinched as the thick, strong planks struck the helpless subject's flexing, squirming buttocks and Becky's screams intensified. After the last impact, her lovely backside was quite red, indeed.
"Wow!" Bob ejaculated. "That was quite a show."
"You ain't seen nothing yet," the scientist assured the company's president. "The nine paddles, mounted to a single wheel that is able to turn at three different rates of speed is this machine's strength," she said. "It's weakness is that one has to insert quarters to get the thing started or to keep it going, and one can hardly count on having as steady a supply of coins on hand for such a purpose, even if one consciously makes a habit of doing so."
Bob nodded. "I see your point."
"This next machine, where Vivian awaits, is also a joy to behold," Dr. Fanner announced. She approached the mechanism under which, prone upon the ice-cold stainless-steel tabletop, her friend, the redhead, lay, and, ensuring that this machine was also set to its "Slow" speed, set the contraption in motion. Its overhead roller began, slowly, to turn. Within a few seconds, its speed had increased dramatically, and the sturdy rubber paddles attached to the rollers began, one after another, to slam into Vivian's defenseless buttocks. The young redhead cried out, her exquisite bottom writhing and wriggling upon the stainless-steel tabletop.
Not more than ten seconds had passed, and Vivian's glorious derriere was already pink, verging upon red, the machine having delivered four powerful swats to her left buttock and an equal number to her right ass cheek.
Slap! Whap! Smack! Whack! Four more swats occurred, two to Vivian's left buttock and two to her right, and the young woman grunted and struggled against her restraints. Her ass was already all-over red, although not brightly so. She had not begun, yet, to glow.
She would, though, soon enough, Dr. Fanner had no doubt of that!
Another half dozen swats to either ass cheek set Vivian to wailing, and a long, undulating, keening sound filled the chamber, making Dr. Fanner's thighs tremble as her pussy released a flood of lubricating juices. The sight of her thighs running with the clear, thick fluids of her sopping pussy brought a gasp from Kenneth, and Bob's eyes widened. The president smiled, and the comptroller tried, in vain, to pretend that he'd seen nothing and that the quality control expert hadn't wet herself with her own cunt juices in front of his eyes. Dr. Fanner repressed a moan, as her clit began to throb and her nipples stiffened quite noticeably. She looked at the cleft of the redhead's hairless sex. Like Dr. Fanner, Vivian was wet, too, between her smooth, well-turned thighs. Upon the tabletop, a small puddle of clear fluid had formed, courtesy of the redhead's overflowing cunt.
The mechanism stopped. "Thank God!" the comptroller cried. He looked pale, and he was trembling. However, there seemed a bulge in the crotch of his expensive pin-striped trousers.
Bob, who was quite obviously erect, grinned. "I can't wait to see the company's next machine in action."
"Let me just dry off a little first, please," the physicist said, "if you don't mind." She took the terrycloth towel from around her neck and dried between her legs. Then, looking at Kenneth, she wiped up the mess that Vivian had made, carefully swabbing between her thighs. Vivian writhed on the table, moaning, as if the scientist's touch aroused her further. Maybe Vivian's behavior was for Kenneth's benefit, or maybe she really was excited.
"That was very impressive," Bob told the scientist. "The machine, I mean."
"It's drawback," Dr. Fanner explained, is that its roller moves in only one direction."
Bob nodded. "I can see how that might be a bit of a handicap."
The comptroller swallowed hard. "Let's see the rest of the demonstration, Dr. Fanner," he said curtly.
Bob chuckled at his vice-president's obvious discomfort. "Yes, Dr. Fanner, by all means, let us see the next show--I mean, demonstration."
"Yes, sir," the physicist replied. However, instead of starting the machine, as she'd been instructed to do, she walked to its front, where she and the brunette exchanged greetings and a passionate kiss. Debbie wasn't just another spanking machine test subject , after all. She and Dr. Fanner were girlfriends, with Dr. Fanner having assumed the butch, and Debbie the femme, role. After the nude women had exchanged a couple more deep, wet kisses, Dr. Fanner asked her lover, "You ready, sweetie?"
"Okay, then." Pressing buttons on the machine's remote control, Dr. Fanner selected one minute for the operation of the machine and set its operating speed at "Slow."
The left paddle, alternating with the right, tread the brunette's backside as if they were the feet of an invisible man with extremely long, thin, flat feet. Whap! Whap! Debbie's buttocks bore the imprint of the boards for a moment after they'd collided with her bottom, and, for a fraction of a second, their shape was imprinted in pink upon her backside. However, the color soon faded again, only to be replaced, a moment later, with the same hue, in the same shape, for the same amount of time. This phenomenon happened repeatedly. Each time the paddles struck, they left their impression in Debbie's sleek flesh. After half a dozen swats, the pink faded less quickly, and, after half a dozen more spanks, it remained, showing the long, narrow outlines of the paddles.
Debbie swayed her ass, as much as possible, trying to expose a different expanse of her bottom to the insistent tread of the paddles, but, in no time, she'd succeeded only in covering this additional surface of her posterior with further marks, and the paddles, no matter how she continued to shift her weight or wriggle her hips, landed again and again upon space that they'd already slapped. Her ass, as a result, was becoming pink over an even larger area than it would have, had she simply remained still, and the blades fell in the same place each time they stamped her behind anew.
Fortunately, for her, the minute passed, and the machine stopped.
"Another impressive contraption, I must say," Bob observed.
The comptroller said nothing.
"Unfortunately, it spanks well enough vertically, but it's incapable of delivering horizontal swats."
'I see. That is rather a drawback, I suppose," the president said.
"Can we move on?" Kenneth demanded.
Dr. Fanner gave her lovely girlfriend a last passionate kiss before leading Bob and Kenneth to the last machine standing in the anteroom, the one occupied by the beautiful young caramel-colored black woman, Sandy., who'd been secured in place, with her biceps bound to her thighs so that she'd assumed a near-fetal position, and her hands were bound behind her back. Sandy was suspended, by cords that passed under her armpits, over an electric fan. Spatula-like paddles were attached to the ends of the fan's blades so that, turning with the fan's blades, they'd strike Sandy's buttocks, which hung directly above them.
Dr. Fanner set the machine's speed to "Slow," pressed the button on the base of the fan that activated the device, and set the machine's blades into motion.
The silliest-looking machine of those which Dr. Fanner had tested so far, the contraption's operation certainly didn't look very promising. The blades slapped the black woman's bottom, bap! bap! bap!, but the sight and sound of the instrument was more comical, the scientist thought, than anything else.
Round and round, the slow-motion blades rotated, as if they were attached to a tiny windmill that was being turned by a faint breeze. Nevertheless, Sandy's buttocks tightened and she flinched, gasping at the stoke of each paddle. Like the redhead to whose fanny Dr. Fanner had subjected an earlier machine's sturdy paddles, the mulatto seemed a virgin to discipline of this sort, and, as the spatula-like paddles continued to slap her ass cheeks, she struggled harder, swinging and jouncing in the cords by which she was suspended over the machine. Her gasps included an occasional moan as well, suggesting that her discomfort had increased, although no telltale signs of discoloration or marks of any kind had as yet appeared upon her bottom.