TEMPORAL MECHANICS” by the Crimson Kid

TEMPORAL MECHANICS” by the Crimson Kid

OCTOBER 2212

Krista Jackson’s brow furrowed as she addressed her training partner, who was seated next to her on the short couch in her dormitory room. “Come on, Ollie, you know that the past is inelastic. You’re in training to become a temporal investigator, aren’t you?”

Twenty-year-old Oliver Madison chewed his lower lip. “Well, not exactly,” he murmured. “It’s primarily inelastic, but apparently insignificant events can be modified slightly, as long as the overall timeline isn’t affected.”

He was rather short, trim yet possessing a firmly-toned musculature, featuring an unusual combination of jet black hair, blue-gray eyes and pale skin. Although he was half-a-foot shorter than the blonde, athletic-looking twenty-two-year-old he partnered for, the young man’s facial features were chiseled enough to make him attractive to her—she especially appreciated his dark, slim moustache, feeling that it gave him a slight ‘bad boy’ look. Since his role in the woman’s training was to simulate someone who’d engaged in societally unacceptable behavior, him looking the part—at least via her perception—was therefore advantageous.

“So we could actually change something in the life of that schoolboy, the one from four hundred years ago whose diary you have a transcript of, huh?” Krista demanded cheerily. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkled with devilish excitement, making it difficult for her partner not to become hopelessly lost in them—she was quite a pretty female, in a perky, head-cheerleader way, and those wide, bright eyes were arguably her best feature.

He cleared his throat. “First of all, for a male it would be called a ‘journal’ rather than a ‘diary’ back then. Secondly, and more importantly, you’re not certified for even probationary time travel, as I am—but even I’d require the accompaniment of someone with full temporal certification, as a fail-safe in case of a problem occurring.”

The blonde pouted playfully. “You’re certified in all but a formal sense, you’ve told me that yourself, Ollie, and you have access to the temporal mechanics laboratory. Couldn’t you get permission to take me along with you for educational purposes?”

Oliver licked his lips. “No, I don’t think so—that would be highly irregular, my supervising teacher is unlikely to approve.”

“That’s Instructor Jefferson, isn’t it?” She queried.

He nodded curtly. “Kyle Jefferson, right. Do you know him?”

Krista laughed lightly. “We’ve spoken in passing on a few occasions. He seems to appreciate the way my unisuit fits me, especially the way it clings to my curvy butt.”

“That sounds like him, all right,” her partner conceded, although he could hardly fault his supervisor for feeling that way; after all, the young lady did have an extremely attractive albeit rather opulent derriere, which was cutely accentuated by the official scarlet outfit which was, like his, effectively a uniform denoting her educational field and degree of progress.

Her chuckle sounded like a bell chime. “Speaking of rotund rear ends, dear boy, we need to get down to business for this practice session. I’ll be employing a brand-spanking-new implement today, relative to my ‘Corporal Punishment in History’ course—it’s called a razor strop, and I’ve been informed that it packs a wicked sting.” She snickered. “I’m impatient to check out your reaction to it, Ollie, so please stand up and I’ll happily lower your breezebottom for you.”

“I’m sure you will.” He reluctantly obeyed, reminding himself of the tuition reduction that he’d received for accepting the ‘invitation’ of the local Spankmistress Corps to become a training partner for one of its apprentices. The prerecorded communication he’d received, from the Spankmistress General herself, had claimed that being chosen for such a service was an honor, based on his posterior’s functionality as a target for her practicing, plus his tolerance for intensive punishment being applied to it.

His charcoal gray, body-hugging unisuit, like all such outfits, had a small black circle, commonly called an “oopsie,” below his waist and directly above the top of his buttcrack. Once his smiling colleague had touched it with her finger, the seat flap of his unisuit, referred to as a “breezebottom,” was released from its connection with the rest of his clothing at its top and sides. Her fingers deftly pulled it downward to reveal the alabaster, firmly-rounded buttcheeks of her partner, watching with satisfaction as its upper edge, having momentarily become its lower one, automatically attached itself to the outfit’s material at lower thigh level.

“Oopsie, look at that,” Krista giggled. “Somebody’s bare bottom is out in the breeze, which means that it needs to be spanked very long and hard—this is a job for Spankmistess Apprentice Krista Jackson!” For some reason, repeating that silly saying just before administering corporal correction seemed to make every member of the Spankmistress Corps smugly pleased with herself, even the fiftyish Spankmistresses who’d made that same basic punishment-promising pronouncement tens of thousands of times.

Her immediate victim shuddered, knowing that she took her practice sessions very seriously, much to his behind’s blazing detriment, in spite of the apparent frivolity she exuded beforehand. “Which position do you wish me to assume?” he demanded by rote.

Rising to her feet, the amazon reached into her official equipment bag, which lay open atop the side table, and took out an instrument of corporal connection made of slick, pliable brown leather with a crimson handle of corrugated rubber—its striking length was eighteen inches long, almost three inches wide and three-eighths of an inch thick. Gripping its handle tightly in her right hand, she pointed at the couch’s round, well-padded arm to the anxious male’s left.

“Punishment position six, bending far forward,” she stated calmly. “Stick your hind end way up, please, I’ll want wide-open access to those tender undercheeks of yours.”

“Certainly, sweetheart.” Oliver grudgingly bent over the couch arm, obediently stretching his body onto the couch’s seat so that his gray-framed nether moons were pushed upward toward the ceiling. The hundreds of true chastisements which he’d received from certified Spankmistresses since his fifth birthday had taught him that failure to comply with their commands, both quickly and completely, would result in the extension and intensification of his discipline at their hands—an approach which Krista also practiced.

He felt the strop’s smooth, cool surface tap the ‘sit spots’ at the base of his exposed posterior as the trainee disciplinarian took aim, then adjusted her stance for a full arm’s-length swing with her leather punitive implement. “I can’t require you to address me as ‘ma’am,’ the way you’ll have to once I’m certified as a Spankmistress, but I can extend this practice session for your flippancy toward me,” she informed the vulnerable young man. “You won’t be thinking of me as your sweetheart, dear boy, while you’re getting a truly thorough hiding with this seriously severe strap. Take a deep breath, my sassy spankybuns, because for you it’s crying time!”

The Spankmistress-in-training proved herself to be both a proficient ass-thrasher and a reliable prophet once her practice session with the razor strop was underway. Focusing her chastising attentions on the plump ‘sit spots’ of those rounded twin targets being provided by her spankee, she delivered a resolute and steady strapping which eventually broke him down into a shamelessly blubbering little boy. Although Oliver attempted to restrict his reactions to being severely strapped atop his naked buttock rounds, his spanker held an overwhelming advantage over him, physically and also psychologically, which she pressed relentlessly to make him gasp, then yelp, then sob, then wail, then finally howl as his hindquarters squirmed under the extended leathering they underwent.

Afterward, as she massaged ‘softskin’ lotion onto the roughened, fiery-looking surface of her prone, sniffling victim’s nether moons, while kneeling atop his lower back, the apprentice sighed with self-satisfac

“Yuh-You ehnn-joy your trah-training too muh-much,” he noted cynically, even as his ravaged rump felt soothed by her hands’ caring touch.

She tittered. “Oh, you’re just upset that I made you bawl like a baby, like I always do during a practice session.” Her palm patted his throbbing backside. “I’ve got an excellent idea for a temporal excursion we can take together, based on that diary’s account, one that will be enlightening for us both—Instructor Jefferson will have to be convinced to allow it, but you can leave that little detail up to me…”

Three days later in the extremely early morning, while they were lying, supine and side-by-side, on the divans which were contained within one of the flux fields in the temporal mechanics laboratory, Oliver addressed his fellow student bluntly. “Tell me that you didn’t have sex with him to seal this deal, at least.”

Her chortle sounded mischievous to him. “No, I didn’t really, but he does expect something along that line sometime soon. He was quite helpful in programming the temporal travel mechanism to send us precisely where we need to go, then to retrieve us at the proper moment, based on the journal’s information and his knowledge of the early twentieth century.”

The young man snorted. “I wasn’t here when it happened, so I’ll have to trust your influence over the guy. We’ll only be changing one minor aspect of the past, righting a wrong which was perpetrated against Reginald Lincoln by his stepsister Sheila, according to his journal entry. You’ll be occupying her body, which will allow you to access her memories and basic behavior patterns, so all you’ll have to do is make the girl confess to setting up her stepbrother for a switching in school.” He paused in contemplation. “If the timing has been set up properly, your consciousness should return here in time to avoid experiencing Sheila’s punishment.”

Krista’s eyes flashed with secret knowledge. “Your awareness will remain in Reginald’s body for fifteen minutes after that, long enough for you to watch his manipulative stepsister get her naked hiney whipped with a birch rod by their teacher, Miss Bismarck, right in front of their entire class. I’ll want a detailed report for the research assignment I’m doing based on this, so pay close attention.”

Her co-conspirator’s grin was wry. “Witnessing someone else, in fact a pretty fifteen-year-old girl, on the receiving end of some sound corporal correction for a change, I believe that I can handle that concept without much trouble.”

Krista smiled broadly. “Then engage the traveler, let’s see how temporal mechanics will actually work…”

Three and a half hours later, the blonde’s consciousness returned from the year 1912, within the rural small town in Iowa where she’d been involved in intriguing events while occupying the body of Sheila Lincoln, only to be galvanized by the sound and sight of an emphatic fanny-tanning which was taking place in the laboratory.

Bent over the back of a hovering magnachair, his hands desperately gripping its front edges, was a bland-looking thirtyish man, whose fairly long hair and over-brimming eyes were both medium brown in color. The stocky, somewhat short male was wearing the field gray unisuit of a junior faculty member in the Temporal Mechanics Department, with its ‘breezebottom’ lowered to expose an upthrust pair of meaty buttcheeks which were already cherry red, yet steadily darkening in coloration.

Wielding a vicious-looking, two-feet-long school strap in administering a highly hurtful hiding to the continuously weeping, wailing teacher was a fortyish dark brunette, one who matched Krista’s height but was quite a bit more buxom and strong-looking. The early-middle-aged woman’s face, which was handsome rather than pretty, bore a determined expression as she continued to crack her flashing instrument of corporal chastisement across the base of her hapless victim’s squirming backside—its hue was approaching that of his punisher’s unisuit, which was the deep magenta of an officer in the Spankmistress Corps.

The feminine disciplinarian glanced briefly at the young lady who had slipped off the divan her body had been lying atop, but without interrupting the sizzling punishment she was in the process of delivering. The dumbstruck observer watched mutely, feeling dread and fascination in equal parts, as the strict correction continued for another six minutes, by which time its recipient was blubbering like a maternally-spanked toddler while his unprotected posterior was exhibiting an outraged, reddish-purple glow.

The woman was well known to Krista, of course—Amelia Jackson, her aunt, academic advisor and personal mentor, and as a lieutenant colonel in the Spankmistress Corps, its highest-ranking faculty associate on campus. The sobbing man, whose ‘oopsie’ she was pressing just before re-covering his ravaged rump with the released ‘breezebottom’ flap, was also recognizable to the inadvertent witness of his severe shellacking—Kyle Jefferson, the instructor in temporal mechanics whom she’d convinced to let her and Oliver bypass the department’s regulations.

“I’ll be contacting you shortly about scheduling three further sessions of severe chastisement, Instructor Jefferson,” Amelia stated bluntly. “I’m going to give you recovery periods of two days between ass-thrashings, and that’s being generous of my part, considering your transgressions.” Her right hand patted the whimpering male’s tear-streaked face. “You let my pretty young niece manipulate you by sashaying her sweet little bumcheeks at you, pretending that you might get a piece of them, but you didn’t explain enough temporal mechanics to her—she knew how to alter the mechanism’s settings, but not the effect it would have in present time. Don’t worry though, her cute caboose will be getting its due attention right away—just not from you.”

Kyle’s head nodded. “Yeh-Yes, ma’am, Madame Spankmistress…Thuh-Thank you for spah-spanking my naughty bare bottom to may-make me become a better citizen, ma’am.”

The officer beamed. “You’re most welcome. Now be on your way for the moment, I’ll be in touch with you very soon.” She turned to face her niece, who was trembling with trepidation. “Oh, your discipline isn’t going to be quite that severe, Krista dear, but it will be plenty enough to leave a lasting impression on your behind, and hopefully your mind too. However, let’s have a friendly little talk first…”

When Oliver’s awareness returned to his twenty-fourth-century body, his partner in temporal journeying was bent across her aunt’s wide lap, with her unisuit’s ‘breezebottom’ in its so-called “down position” and a sturdy, half-inch-thick lexanite paddle steadily smacking her naked hiney’s sensitive underbuns with great expertise. The blonde was crying continuously as her broad, bouncy behind reddened brilliantly while her feet kicked with frantic futility. He was able to observe the final four minutes of the punitive session while seated on his divan. He knew that the Spankmistess General herself wasn’t immune to earned chastisement, but until then he’d never seen even an apprentice in the Corps being walloped.

Although sobbing raggedly as she was helped back to her feet, Krista nonetheless flashed a sly smirk at the witness to her discipline. “Heh-Hello, Ollie, weh-welcome back. Muh-My little trick wah-worked fine in the p-past, but I meh-essed up on my knowledge of tuh-temporal mechanics.”

Her aunt chuckled softly. “Here, sweetie, let me give your shining seat some coverage—your cohort here has gotten a pretty good gander at it already, he’s seen enough.”

“Thuh-Thank you for spanking my naughty bah-bare bottom, Madame Spankmistress, to may-make me become a better citizen, ma’am.” Speaking those words immediately following the restoration of her rearward modesty, Krista ruefully realized that they would be much more enjoyable to hear from someone else whom she’d disciplined.

The older female’s hazel eyes danced merrily. “You’ll be getting one more session in three days’ time, Krista, I’ll contact you about it later. Meanwhile, just wait quietly while I discuss the error of his ways with your partner in mischief.”

The apprentice sniffled. “Oh-Okay, Auntie.”

Amelia’s gaze met her next correction recipient as she beckoned him to approach her. “Come over here, young man, I’m going to bare your chubby caboose for you before we have our quick conversation—then I’ll want you in ‘punishment position three’ over that chair’s back for a very lengthy encounter with my rubber strap.” Thirty seconds later, Oliver was standing bare-assed and facing the disciplinarian while Krista, at her aunt’s direction, stood behind him and moderately slapped the pliable punitive implement against his quivering buttock rounds. (“That should help him maintain awareness of an impending event,” the Spankmistress had explained.)

“The timing was wrong,” the nervous male complained, “Not to mention that I was double-crossed by Krista.”

The mature woman’s expression was amused. “So she’s told me…Not only did she refrain from confessing to the crime that the girl whose body she was occupying had committed, so that your fourteen-year-old boy was given a harsh birching on his naked fanny in front of his classmates, which you fully experienced while in his body.”

He moaned. “Putting a snake in the teacher’s desk, that was simply considered a boy-type prank—that’s why she took Sheila’s word over Reginald’s. Damn, was she ever angry at me—or him, whatever.”

At a wink from Amelia, her niece increased both the force and tempo of the smacks she was applying to her partner’s exposed posterior, making them land at three-second intervals with medium intensity.

“These smacks are just to remind you of what’s upcoming for that foolishly risk-taking bare bottom of yours,” she announced in response to his soft gasps. “Krista was clever in reprogramming the time-traveling mechanism to keep you in the past for an additional two hours, which gave her time to have Sheila tell her mother about Reginald’s supposed misconduct in school after they’d gotten back home.” Her chortle reflected admiration for the younger woman’s precise planning. “So his stepmother took Reginald out to their woodshed and gave him a pants-down licking with the razor strop—which Sheila was allowed to watch, as a reward for tattling on him for an offense which she’d actually committed.”

Krista dimpled in delight. “It was really awesome, Auntie, did she ever blister that boy’s bare rear end—it was glowing a dark violet-red afterward. I was transported back to the present just a moment after it was over, so I’d timed it perfectly. I’m not certain that Ollie, stuck in Reginald’s body while he bawled like a baby, enjoyed it all that much though.”

Her aunt’s smile was smug. “I’m certain that he didn’t, even though you two did demonstrate the slight elasticity of past events, since Reginald ended up being spanked twice due to your intervention. Of course, dear girl, you didn’t understand that you’d end up staying in stasis for two more hours in the present, while your conscious awareness was still occupying Sheila’s body back then—the same for Oliver in Reginald’s body, except for an extra fifteen minutes.”

Still cracking the rubber implement across her training partner’s naked buttcheeks, but then with fairly hard strokes which were making him gasp, the young lady sighed ruefully. “So I didn’t get back, my consciousness anyway, until eight o’clock this morning, and our unauthorized use of the mechanism must’ve been reported by some early-bird student who spotted our bodies on the divans—my not understanding temporal mechanics well enough, that’s what got all of us in this trouble.”

“Speaking of which, I believe that it’s time for your cohort in rule-breaking to get ready for an exceptionally sound hiding, since you’ve given him such a nice warmup with that rubber seat-striper. Please hand it back to me, Krista, while I’d like you to assume your punishment position over the chair’s back, Oliver, and get that pale, precious rear of yours pointed at the ceiling.” The Spankmistress quickly moved into position, the handle of her corrective implement grasped in her right hand, to administer a lengthy, highly hurtful chastisement.

Her niece beamed at the confident disciplinarian. “Thank you for letting me observe Ollie getting his just desserts, Auntie.”

Amelia raised the strap to strike downward. “He’ll be getting another two butt-blisterings later on this week, and you’re welcome to witness those as well—in fact, you can help me scorch his seat, since I’d like to see how effective you’ve become in your training.”

The blonde tittered. “That’s a deal then.”

THWAACK!! CRACK!! SPLACK!! THWAACK!! The stinging-hot licks of firm-yet-flexible rubber began emphatically impacting against Oliver’s vulnerable undercheeks, much to his pained dismay, as a dedicated member of the Spankmistress Corps once again performed her sworn duty…

{The End}

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