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Quality Control

By: Cal Y. Pygia



"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.

Quality Control



 (Author's Note: I've noticed that Japanese bukkake is quite effective for us facial fans, in part because it seems that nearly every guy in the videos shoots a pretty big load (onto truly beautiful women). That suggests to me that the male participants are screened ahead of time, to make sure they've got enough spunk. I figured the screening process would make the basis for a great story.)



Felicia Johnson was thrilled when the recruiter from Japan Automotive hired her right out of her San Francisco art school to work at the company's advertising department, in Tokyo. As a graphics designer and photographer she was more than anxious to begin shooting pictures of sleek cars and sexy people. High res digital cameras meant no more darkroom chemicals. Now, everything happened in real time, in the studio. She had only a few days to arrange her move. She packed her bags, her cameras, computers, and art supplies. Her roommate, Susan, was happy for the extra space Felicia's departure would provide (though not thrilled about the additional rent). Felicia said hasty good-byes to her family and friends (but no steady boy friend), and before it all had fully sunk in, she was on the plane to Tokyo. Business class seating on the plane wasn't too uncomfortable, but she knew she'd have to work hard to get her "upgrade" in the company hierarchy.

She was met at the airport by a young Japanese woman named Mariko. Mariko spotted Felicia, immediately. Japan Auto's HR department had emailed to Mariko's I-Phone, a photograph and description of their newest employee: "Young Caucasian American female, about 25 years old, shoulder length brown hair with blonde streaks, brown eyes, full lips. Very attractive." Mariko's first glimpse of Felicia confirmed all this, and more. Felicia had large, beautiful breasts, slender waist, lovely rounded hips. This was one sexy girl. Mariko smiled. Her superiors would be pleased. For her part, Felicia was equally impressed with Mariko. The young Japanese woman was slender, with silky long black hair and ivory skin. Stunningly beautiful. Felicia had learned some Japanese in high school, but Mariko called out to Felicia in English. "Ms. Johnson? My name is Mariko. I'm your supervisor's Personal Assistant. Please come with me."

After retrieving Felicia's baggage, they were picked up by one of dozens of Japan Auto's company cars, and driven to downtown Tokyo. Threading his way through the tangled streets and incredible traffic, the driver delivered them to Felicia's new apartment. It proved to be a comfortable but very modest studio apartment. Tiny by American standards, quite ordinary for Tokyo. It was comfortable and furnished, and the view wasn't bad. Felicia thought to herself, "This will do for now, but I know I can do better." After unpacking, she grabbed a quick shower while Mariko waited in the main room. Mariko offered to take her out to dinner, at company expense, of course. The sushi was wonderful! But Felicia couldn't help noticing that during dinner, Mariko seemed to be eying her intently. She'd seen that look before, in the eyes of most of the men she knew. It seemed that Mariko was mentally undressing her. Felicia was surprised. Shocked, perhaps. Flattered.

The next day, Felicia took the subway to her employer's advertising division, and was directed to the studio where she would be working. The studio was located on ground level so that the company's vehicles could be driven in for photo shoots. The work proved to be as exciting as she'd hoped. The cars, the lighting, the fashion models all conspired to give her days a relentless, erotically charged glamor. Mariko, aside from her PA role, was also one of the models. In every shot she exuded a sexual intensity, whether or not her nipples could be seen through her clinging satin blouse. 

As the days turned to weeks, Felicia was absolutely loving her job. She and Mariko were growing closer. She was also getting to know her supervisor, Mr. Miki Sakura. He was a Japanese man of around fifty years of age. He was quite good looking, youthful and fit, and fairly tall, around 1.8 meters in height. The Japanese social stratification being what it was, she and Mr. Sakura could not exactly be friends, but she enjoyed his and Mariko's company, in a process of group camaraderie known in Japan as "social lubrication." They would frequently all go out together for dinner, after work. Felicia found that she was growing increasingly attracted to Sakura. The social lubrication was evolving into another kind that often left her seat wet, when they left the restaurant.

While she loved her job, Felicia found that her budget remained very tight. The salary the company was paying her had seemed quite generous when she'd accepted their employment offer. But the cost of living in Tokyo was extraordinarily high. She had very little money left over after her basic living expenses were paid. And while she enjoyed the group gatherings paid for by the company, she was becoming increasingly frustrated by her inability to do much on her own in the huge Tokyo megalopolis. She simply couldn't afford it.

And so she was pleased when, early one Tuesday morning, Mr. Sakura called her into his office. He said to Felicia, in nearly perfect English, "Ms. Johnson, it has come to my attention that while you are doing excellent work for our firm, your salary is not leaving you much discretionary income, here in Tokyo. Unfortunately, I am not in a position to increase your salary at this time, though in my opinion, you certainly deserve a raise. However, I do have a special project that might be of interest to you, and would provide a substantial improvement in your monetary situation. Would you be interested?" Felicia was, of course, interested. But there was a curious glitter in Sakura's eyes as he raised this new opportunity?

"Ms. Johnson, you surely have noted that Japan Automotive is a highly competitive force in the industrial world. Even during economic downturns, our company has always remained profitable. We have achieved this by diversifying our activities. We don't just make cars and trucks. We have other operations, other revenue sources. We hope to involve you in one of these."

"And what would that be, Mr. Sakura?" Felicia asked with a mixture of curiosity and nervous anticipation.

"Well, Ms. Johnson, to be perfectly frank, we have found that there is always, through good times and bad, a market for the artistic expression of human sexuality. We produce high quality erotic materials: photographs, literature, and especially, videos. We do this under the umbrella of a subsidiary of ours that cannot be connected publicl to Japan Automotive."

Felicia was startled. And intrigued. She'd occasionally taken some sensual photographs while at art school. This would simply be a move further (much further!) in that direction. "Well, Mr. Sakura, I love taking photographs. I'd be interested in expanding the range of my work."

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, Ms. Johnson. But I need to clarify what we have in mind. One of our most popular erotic video lines is our bukkake product. Are you familiar with that term?" Felicia swallowed hard, and nodded. "We pride ourselves on producing the highest quality and most explicit bukkake on the market, today. And now I will be blunt. A large part of our success in this area is the result of truly stellar production values. Our lighting, cameras, and music scores are state-of-the art. The women appearing in these videos are exceptionally beautiful. And we make sure that every man can consistently ejaculate copious amounts of semen onto these women. And that is where you come in. We would like you to serve as our new Quality Control Assistant, not as our photographer. It will be your task to measure the amount of sperm every prospective male participant can produce, to make sure he measures up to our high standards."

Felicia could scarcely believe her ears. Mr. Sakura couldn't possibly mean any of this. "Mr. Sakura, forgive me for saying this, but you can't be serious!"

He replied, "Ms. Johnson, of course I am serious. Pornography is a multi-trillion Yen industry. No successful company can afford to turn away from such a lucrative activity. I understand your shock and surprise, but let me tell you what your participation would mean to you, personally. I will get right to the point. We will pay you the equivalent, in Yen, of five hundred US dollars, every time a prospective male participant ejaculates in your presence. In addition, we will pay you an additional $100 finder's bonus if his ejaculate level meets or exceeds our minimum standard. Given that our typical bukkake productions feature twenty or more men, you can expect to earn nearly $12,000 per session, and each session won't last more than two hours. There are even more generous incentives available, under certain circumstances."

Felicia found herself asking (as if her voice belonged to a stranger), "What circumstances are those?"

Sakura replied, "If you participate actively. In any case, we have a release form for you to sign, indicating that if you choose to become involved in this operation, you do so voluntarily. It also stipulates the financial arrangements"

Felicia was furious. "You bastard! You set me up! You knew my regular salary would be barely enough for me to live on, so that I'd consider your...'project.'" She thought for a moment. "Still, I think we can work something out. This 'other revenue source' is worth trillions of Yen, yes? Then I want a bigger part of the action. But I'm not greedy. I'll do it, for a thousand dollars a 'pop,' along with the incentives you've already mentioned. Make the change in the release agreement, and I'll sign." And soon it was done. Sakura gave her the address of a video production facility located several miles away. "See you tomorrow morning. 10:00 am. Wear something...attractive."

That night, Felicia found it hard to sleep. She thought to herself, "I must have been crazy to agree to do this porn thing! What was I thinking?" But a deeper part of her knew. With no boyfriend in her bed for the last few months, and no time or money to find one in the lonely crowds of Tokyo, she was aching for sex. Now she had the chance to have a lot of it, and make a ton of money at the same time.

The next morning, Felicia took the subway train to the video studio. Mariko met her at the employees' entrance and waved her through the security gate. Felicia followed her down a corridor to Studio 2. It was a large room, with stage, a couch, lighting, cameras, microphones on boom stands and other technical gear. Mariko instructed her to stand beneath the stage lighting for a photo. "Smile! Look sexy!" Mariko's camera whirred through a series of photos. She uploaded the photo batch to a computer, picked a shot that suggested a smoky eroticism, and began printing dozens of 8x10 copies of the photo. 

"Why all these pics of me?" Felicia asked.

"This is how it all works. As Mr. Sakura explained, when we do a bukkake, we want to make sure that every guy in the video can shoot a serious load. So we actually measure how much sperm each one squirts. That's where the photos come it. Each guy is going to cum on your picture. Then we'll weigh the picture with the cum on an electronic scale. Since we know how much the picture weighs on its own, the extra weight is the guy's spunk!"

"You're joking!"

"No, I'm quite serious. An average guy shoots about 3 ml of cum. Every guy in our videos has to shoot at least 5." Mariko grinned. "We convert the measure from weight to volume, of course." Mariko pointed to a door opening on the far side of the studio. "We're ready to start." 

About three dozen men, all in their underwear, filed into the room. Nearly all of them were native Japanese, but there were a few Caucasians as well. Mariko addressed the group, speaking in Japanese. "Gentlemen, please be seated." The men sat cross-legged on the floor. "My name is Mariko. It's my pleasure to welcome you to our latest bukkake screening. This is Felicia, a new addition to our production staff." She turned to Felicia, holding up the stack of photos. In English she said "I'll have these ready for you when the time comes." Turning back to the men, she continued. "Felicia is here for your pleasure. She will maximize your enjoyment, so as to maximize your ejaculations. Please cum on her picture. When you are finished, hand it to me, and tell me your name. I will weigh the photograph, in that way measuring how much semen you produced. Those of you who produce enough will be invited back to participate in a regular bukkake session. We thank you for your participation, and hope you enjoy your experience, here." Felicia, fascinated, watched the erotic scenario unfolding. She could feel the men's lust building. She could smell it in the air. She saw cocks, still restrained in their briefs, beginning to rise. She suddenly realized that these men would shoot more cum—and she would make more money—if she brought them to climax herself, rather than letting them simply masturbate onto her photo. She wanted to do it. She wanted to stroke their cocks. And taste their cocks. She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse, to reveal a substantial amount of cleavage. The men stared at her. They began rubbing their cocks. Erections sprang up everywhere, as the men pulled down their confining briefs.

Felicia felt her own desire rising in response. She began a kind of slow erotic dance, undoing the remaining buttons on her blouse, one by one, eventually completely exposing her tits. Her nipples tightened, hardened. Mariko then signaled the men to stand, and remove their briefs. They gathered around Felicia, offering their now throbbing phalluses to her. She dropped to her knees, and began stroking them, one after another in turn. The pre-cum began dripping from the tips, running down onto her hands. One cock after another she slipped into her mouth, marveling at the variety of shapes and tastes. She began to picture jet after jet of jizz splashing onto her picture. It was like being the object of lust for every adolescent boy who ever jerked off looking at a skin mag. It turned her on.

She closed her tits around one cock after another; the pre-cum lubrication let them slide easily, forward and back. She was awash in lust, her own and that of all these men who wanted nothing more than to give her their spunk. They were surprisingly courteous. There was no pushing or crowding in their efforts to get Felicia's hands, or tits, or mouth, wrapped around their throbbing, pulsating dicks. They took turns. Those waiting for her attention were content to stroke themselves until Felicia was able to give them a few seconds of her attention. She she sank deeper and deeper into her role—a goddess, not of love, but of sex.

Mariko, who had been watching all this activity with a mixture of desire and amusement came over to Felicia, helped her to her feet, and led her over to the couch. Once Felicia was comfortable, she handed her a penis-shaped vibrator. "Here! Take this. You're going to need it!" Felicia immediately turned it on and slid it into her sopping pussy. Then Mariko spoke loudly enough for all the men to hear over all the groaning and gasping. "Gentlemen! I'm sure you are all getting close to cumming. We want to make sure you finish on the beautiful Felicia's photograph. I'll hold a copy of the photo for each of you while you cum. The gift of your semen is the highest possible compliment you can pay to this beautiful woman, this glorious cum slut!" 

And so a natural rhythm developed immediately. Felicia sucked and stroked each cock until she could feel its owner was about to cum. She'd finish him off with her hand, as the jizz splattered her photo. Mariko would take a few seconds to weigh the pic, and enter the number next to the man's name. The first ejaculation was amazing. Spurt after spurt rained down on the photo, drenching it. Felicia could almost feel it on her face as she watched her likeness covered in sperm. The next guy's pop wasn't quite as big, but it glistened as the beautiful silvery, ropey strands adorned the photo. With all of this going on, the vibrator in Felicia's cunt was having the desired effect. Wave after orgasmic wave washed over her. She made little, gasping cries as she jerked one guy after another, working cock after cock, staring as they to shot their hot splattering loads all over her likeness.

It was all perfect, except for one thing: Felicia wanted her real face covered with cum. There were still dozens of cocks ready to shoot gallons of sperm. She was actually becoming jealous of her photograph! She whimpered to Mariko, "Please...please...I want cum on my face! My own face! I want it on my tits and in my hair. Please can I have it?" She was desperate, pleading. 

Mariko smiled. "I knew you wouldn't last long with this. You'll be happy to know that most of these men are actually bukkake regulars. And you've already jerked off the guys who are trying out for the team. The rest of the cum is for you!" Now the crowd of men moved in on her. They gently but quickly slipped her clothes off of her. They wanted full access. She wanted them to have it. Felicia had a seemingly endless number of cocks in her hands, rubbing slippery pre-cum on her face, shooting sperm into her mouth, on her tits, into her hair, her cunt. Mariko held the vibrator against Felicia's clit while the men plunged in and out of her. Felicia was in a world of pleasure beyond anything she had ever imagined. Mariko then slipped the vibrator into Felicia's cunt, and began sucking and stroking the men herself. She opened her own blouse and rubbed cocks against her smaller but exquisitely shaped tits, until they were shiny with pre-cum. And she slid them into her own mouth, fellating each one to maximum arousal, the veins bulging along each shaft. This was all for Felicia's benefit. They would have that much more spunk to shoot onto her face. Then one after another, Mariko jerked them off, splashing Felicia with unbelievable amounts of sperm. Felicia was lost to this world, driven into an erotic universe comprised of nothing but spurting cocks. She screamed as the orgasms rolled over her, drowning in a sea of cum. 

Gradually, after it was all over, Felicia's mind returned to this reality. Mariko helped her to her feet. The men all applauded and bowed, and filed out through the same door by which they had entered. Mariko told Felicia, "You did quite well." She brought Felicia through another door to a shower room where they could both clean up. As the hot water splashed them clean, Felicia said, "That was...amazing. I had no idea it could be like that."

Mariko pressed her body against Felicia's, their breasts rubbing together. "It doesn't have to be over," she said. 



Quality Control



Suzi sat in her chair, staring at the swirling colors as they moved across the screen. She wasn't thinking about anything in particular; she didn't need to think about anything right now. She just needed to relax, and let all her cares and worries drift away on a warm tide of drowsy happiness as she waited for the phone to ring. She didn't know how long she'd been waiting, and she didn't care. It wasn't important. Suzi could wait as long as she needed to. A slow, lazy smile spread across her face as she watched the colors ripple and dance in their endless patterns--

Abruptly, the screensaver vanished, and Suzi snapped out of her daydream as the phone beeped quietly but insistently to let her know there was a call coming in. She sat up straight and put her hands on the keyboard, ready to type. "Welcome to the Personal Pleasures Customer Support Hotline," the recorded message played in her headset.

As always, Suzi welcomed the brief moment that the recording gave her to get her mind back on her job before she went live with the customer. At this job, it was way too easy to let the mind wander between calls, and Suzi was glad of the extra time to bring it back. "For quality control purposes," the recording continued, "this call may be monitored and recorded."

Then she heard it. Just before the customer came on the line, Suzi noticed the tiniest little click that told her that 'may be' had turned into 'is being'. She sat up even straighter than before, a little butterfly fluttering in her stomach as she spoke. "Hello, you're speaking with the Personal Pleasures Customer Support Hotline," she said, trying to enunciate every syllable with perfect clarity. If her boss was listening, Suzi wanted to do this exactly the way she'd been taught. "My name is Suzi, how may I assist you today?"

"Um, yes, hi," the woman on the other end said, sounding a bit like she'd just woken up from a nap. Suzi checked the hold time on the call--five minutes, twenty-six seconds. Long enough for the subliminals in the hold music to soften up her mind, but not so long that she'd lose patience and hang up. "My name is Roberta, Roberta Gardner, and I appear to have been sent a package from your company by mistake. There's a bill here with my name on it, but I know I didn't order...um, these. I can't seem to find an address to return it to, though, just your 1-800 number."

"I see, ma'am," Suzi said. "Do you have the items there, Ms Gardner?" She spoke smoothly and calmly, trying to keep that delicate balance between 'unemotional' and 'cold', and between 'helpful' and 'commanding'. They'd had to train her for ages to get it right, but Suzi knew it was the most important part of her job. Once she got the voice right, it did most of her work for her.

"Um..." Suzi could almost hear Roberta blush over the phone. "Yes, yes I do. They're still in the box," she added hurriedly.

Suzi smiled just a little. "I understand, ma'am," she said, letting just a little of that sympathy creep into her voice. She definitely didn't want Roberta getting offended. "Could you read me the serial number from the shipping label?"

There was a tiny pause, then Roberta spoke again. "Zero seven three, four seven two nine, six five eight one four," she said. As she spoke, Suzi typed the numbers into her computer.

"Thank you very much," Suzi said as the she finished typing. "Please hold on for just a moment while I look this package up in our shipping database." She pressed a button, and gentle music began to play through her headset as she scanned the computer records. She knew it would be playing in Roberta's ears as well.

'Roberta Gardner', the screen read. 'Recommended by Debbi K. Single, age 32, no children. Parents deceased. No current or former relationships. Teaches primary school in Ypsilanti, MI. Hair: Blonde. Eyes: Blue. Measurements 42D-36-45.' That was a little bit heavy for a Personal Pleasures girl, Suzi knew, but it was only to be expected on initial contact. With a little bit of slimming, she'd be perfect...especially if they could keep her from losing too much around the chest. Management definitely liked busty girls, Suzi thought, idly running her hands over her own ample tits.

She finished reading through the file that Debbi had compiled, and then checked the call display. 'Hold time: Two minutes', it read. Suzi smiled, and read through all the information again. Then she filed her nails for a full minute before finally taking the phone off of hold. "Sorry about the wait," she said. "I have the shipping information right here, and it does appear as though you received that package in error. I apologize for the inconvenience, and I want to assure you that you were not billed for those items. I'm sorry you needed to take valuable time out of your day to correct the mistake."

"I, um...no, that's alright," Roberta replied. Her voice sounded more than a little muzzy, as though she had fallen asleep while on hold. "I don't care how long it takes, I just want to get this, um...taken care of."

Suzi's smile widened a little. "I understand, ma'am," she said. "We'll try to get this processed as soon as possible so that you can get on with your day. First, I need to confirm the contents of the package with you so that we can be sure it matches with our shipping records."

"...is that really necessary?" Roberta asked. Suzi could hear the trepidation in her voice, and for a moment she worried that Roberta was going to hang up the phone; but the same prudishness that made her reluctant to talk about sex toys with a stranger also made her reluctant to hang up without making arrangements to get rid of them. She probably didn't even want to throw the box away, lest someone spot it in her trash and think she'd broken them through overuse.

"I'm afraid so, ma'am," Suzi replied, letting her voice close off Roberta's options. All her training came back to her easily and effortlessly; she sounded firm, yet not rude, and Suzi knew her bosses would be so proud of her. Her tone simply made it clear that this was just the way things were, and there was no point in trying to argue against it. She knew it would work perfectly on Roberta, even if she hadn't spent ten minutes on hold already.

There was a pause. Suzi was used to that, though; Roberta wasn't the first girl that Suzi had needed to coax into the return procedures. "Don't worry, ma'am," she said soothingly. "All our call records are strictly confidential."

"...okay," Roberta said in a tiny voice. "There's, um...a bright pink, um...back massager," she said, her voice giving away the fact that she knew exactly what the device was supposed to massage.

"That would be the 'Personal Pleasures Pussy Pleaser Vibrator'," Suzi said, as calmly as if she was reciting from a phone book. "Model 125-A, with optional Clit Massager and G-Spot Stimulator." On some days, she might have skipped the recitation of the product names; they got her a little bit turned on, and that made it hard to keep the emotion out of her voice. But if her bosses were listening, Suzi needed to do everything exactly right. And it was important to remind Roberta of just what she was holding in her hands right now. After ten minutes of hold music, every sexual reference would cascade within Roberta's hazy mind, helping to soften her up for further conditioning.

Sure enough, Roberta sounded a little shaky as she continued. "And a blue, um...back massager as well, with a flared base," she said. She sounded a little perplexed at that; Suzi suspected that Roberta had never even thought of having that particular hole massaged.

"That would be the 'Personal Pleasures Anal Sensations Butt Plug', ma'am. It's one of our most popular anal play items for beginners," Suzi replied. There was a quiet gasp on the other end of the line, and Suzi knew exactly what it meant--Roberta had just thought about having something in her ass for the first time, and it had turned her on. Suzi felt a surge of pleasure between her thighs from knowing that her bosses would hear that gasp too. "There should also be a complimentary bottle of 'Personal Pleasures Warming Lube', as well. Anything else?"

"Um, yes," Roberta continued. "There are...I guess they look to be alligator clips of some sort, and a pair of..." She trailed off into embarrassed silence for a long moment. "A pair of fur-lined handcuffs," she said at last.

"The 'Personal Pleasures Nipple-tastic Nipple Clips'," Suzi said, struggling to keep the arousal out of her voice. It was so hard, though; she kept thinking about rolling her own nips between her fingers, getting them stiff and perky, and then closing the clamps over them and feeling that hot, stinging pleasure as the teeth dug in just enough to make her whimper... She reminded herself that management was listening. "And the 'Personal Pleasures Total Domination Pleasure Cuffs', as well." She put a small, almost subliminal amount of stress on the words 'Total Domination', knowing that Roberta's subconscious mind would pick it up.

"There should be three more items," Suzi prompted, after giving Roberta a few more seconds to continue. She wasn't sure whether the other girl was too embarrassed to speak, too aroused, or some combination of the two, but it was important not to give her any time to recover her thoughts. Management would be so pleased with the way she was handling this call!

"Um..." Roberta's voice trembled as she spoke. "There's a, a...a..." She paused, evidently nervous about provoking another product description from Suzi. "A wetsuit?" she finished hesitantly.

Suzi rapidly put the phone on mute before the sigh of pleasure escaped her lips. After the briefest pause to collect herself, she pressed the mute button again and continued. "The 'Personal Pleasures Latex Slavesuit'," she said, digging her fingernails into her palm to keep the quiver out of her voice. Hearing Roberta's whimper on the other end of the line didn't help, though. "Please continue."

"There's a..." Suzi heard Roberta panting, and she felt her clit swelling up at the thought of what the other girl must look like. "It's a dog collar, I think..." Her voice sounded soft and distant now, lost in sexual fantasies. Suzi pressed a finger to the crotch of her own Personal Pleasures Latex Slavesuit and began to gently rub.

"It's actually our 'Personal Pleasures Ownership Collar'," Suzi corrected. She put a bit of force into her voice as she spoke, knowing that Roberta was primed to be commanded now. "For special pets. And the last item?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Roberta spoke, her voice hazy with confusion. "It's a DVD," she said, "but the box is just...blank. There's no label on it at all."

"I see," Suzi said, putting just a hint of mock perplexity into her own response. "That's odd. Could you please hold while I check on that?" The tone in her voice made it clear that it wasn't really a question at all, and Suzi pressed the hold button without waiting for an answer.

Once Roberta was listening to the brain-blanking music, Suzi let her fingers go wherever they wanted. The music crept into her ears as well, but that just made the masturbation even better; she pictured Roberta's eyes, going distant and vacant as she drifted into the music and thought about all those yummy sex toys and what they did. She pictured Roberta fondling her own breasts and wondering if she really wanted to return them after all. She pictured Roberta struggling not to remove her clothes, and finally losing the struggle...

"GNNNNNHHHHH!" Suzi shrieked loudly into the headset as she came. She knew that management was still listening. That made it even better.

After she finally came down from the orgasm, Suzi took Roberta off hold and said, "Sorry about the wait, ma'am. It seems that we don't have a record of which DVD was sent to your house. I'm sorry to ask this of you, Bobbi, but could you please put the DVD into your DVD player and press 'play'? Just long enough to tell me the title," she added, although by this point the pretense of verifying the contents of the box was scarcely necessary.

"uh huh," Roberta said. She sounded totally vacant, as though the only thought left in her mind was an eagerness to obey. There was a brief pause, and then Suzi heard the tiniest "ohhh" from the other end of the line.

"That's right, Bobbi," Suzi said, feeling the heat in her pussy increase once more as she pictured the subliminal commands embedded in the video taking hold of Roberta's mind. "What's the title of the video?"

Roberta was almost gasping too hard to get the words out. "'P-p-personal Pleasures Presents...ohhh...S-s-sexy Slutty S-slavegirls'," she whimpered.

"And they are sexy, aren't they, Bobbi?" Suzi asked, grateful now that she could let the arousal creep into her voice. She wanted Roberta to be thinking about sex now. She wanted Roberta to imagine her fingering herself while they talked, rubbing the heel of her hand against her clit while her long digits slipped past the flap of her slavesuit and slid into her gushing pussy...

"yes, so sexy," Roberta said. "so hot..."

"They look so hot because they're wearing their slavesuits," Suzi said, her voice thick with desire. "Wearing a Personal Pleasures Latex Slavesuit is so fucking sexy, isn't it, Bobbi?"

"uh huh," Bobbi whimpered. She hadn't even noticed the new name Suzi gave her, let alone tried to correct it. "so fucking sexy..."

Suzi paused for just a moment to let the thought sink in, knowing that it was inevitable. "You may, Bobbi," she said. She heard Bobbi gasp in astonishment, and smiled gently to herself. Mind reading was easy when the mind had so few thoughts left.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the faint sound of the video in the background, and then she heard Bobbi moaning into the phone again. "oh so hot, so fucking hot, so good..."

"So good to be a sexy, slutty slavegirl," Suzi purred into the phone. The only response was an even louder moan. "Sexy, slutty slavegirls wear their nipple clips, don't they, Bobbi?"

"nnnnnyesssss!" Bobbi screamed into the phone. Suzi pictured those full, heavy tits, the nipples sticking out stiff and hard through the holes in the slavesuit as Bobbi closed the teeth of the clamps onto them...

"Good girl," Suzi whimpered, her own pleasure now building in her clit. "Good sexy, slutty slavegirl...cuffs around your ankles now, Bobbi, feel how helpless they make you..."

"nnh, unnh, ohhh...yes, yes, please..." Bobbi was chanting mindlessly now, lost in her need and in the mind-melting pleasures of the video.

"And the toys, Bobbi. Slide them in. Use as much lube as you need." It was times like this that Suzi wished she could do more than just listen. It was so easy to imagine the thick, pink dildo sliding into Bobbi's tight, horny pussy, but Suzi wanted to see it for herself. She wanted to see every inch of the butt plug disappearing into Bobbi's ass for the very first time. The thought that Bobbi would be working with her soon provided some consolation, though.

"guhh, gnnhh, guhh..." Bobbi's speech was now nothing more than inarticulate grunts of pleasure, but that was exactly what Suzi wanted to hear now.

"And now, Bobbi, you know exactly what you need. You want to be a sexy, slutty slavegirl just like the girls in the video, and you know what will make you one, now and forever. You want to be owned, Bobbi. How can you show us that you want to be owned?"

"collar collar collar please collar please..." Bobbi babbled.

Suzi felt her orgasm building, and knew she wouldn't be able to hold back much longer. "Good girl," she said. "Put it on...now." With that, she lost it completely, and gave in to the pleasure.

Suzi's moans were matched by one last shriek of utter abandon on the other end of the line, and then Bobbi's breathing slowly subsided into the soft, slow, steady rhythm of complete blankness. Suzi could still hear the video--it would play on an endless loop until stopped--but Bobbi had nothing to say. She wanted nothing more now than to listen and watch and learn how to be a good Personal Pleasures girl.

"Good girl," Suzi whispered in her ear, knowing that Bobbi's empty mind would absorb every word. "Now, remain where you are until collected. Thank you for calling Personal Pleasures, Bobbi...and have a wonderful day." Only after speaking the final words did she disconnect the phone and slump into her chair, spent.

She let out a little yelp as another voice spoke over her headset. She'd actually forgotten she was being monitored in all the excitement of recruiting Bobbi. "Thank you, Suzi," her manager said, "for participating in this quality control observation. Rest assured that we are very pleased with the quality of your control, and you have been a very good girl indeed."

Suzi smiled dreamily, the collar around her neck feeling like a warm caress as she heard her owner's praise. The hypnotic screensaver started up once more, and she eagerly fell back into trance as she waited for her next call.

THE END



Quality Control



For most people, it's hard to earn money when you're going to college. For Sarah Nerato, it was no different. She'd been going to City College in Southern California, a mecca for young hot women and a place where Sarah was right at home, for a couple years and wanted more out of life- more fun and more money. She was a fairly superficial girl, like most there. She worked hard on her looks even though they didn't really need much work. At 5'5" and just over 100lbs she was petite and thin with dark Eastern European and Hawaiian coloring, big brown eyes, long dark hair a beautiful almond shaped face with big pouty lips. All of this was exceptional enough, but what was truly contrary to expected genetics were her tits- big perky natural 36C tits stood proud and firm with the weightlessness of youth and the slight bounce of naturalness. She worked out regularly, tanned and took care of herself like it was a full time job. She knew eventually her looks would make her rich in one way or another, but she didn't know which way yet, so she studied acting casually and dated her boyfriend casually. 

She couldn't pinpoint why exactly she started stripping...maybe it was because she loved to see men ogling her incredible hotness, maybe it was because she loved the intensely erotic act of writhing on stage, one definite reason, however, was the money. She was racking it in every night she danced. Men had never seen anyone so beautiful, not to mention anyone so beautiful half naked, before and she knew it and could count it in every dollar she earned every night. She loved her boyfriend in a casual way, but something inside her told her she was wasting her eroticism on him...to be young, to take chances, to have fun, why not when you're 20, hot and busty? 

Friday night, and the group of young men came in to the Pussy Cat in prototypical bachelor party fashion. One sheepish looking young man, maybe 26 tall and somewhat cute, being shuffled in behind a group of grinning idiots. The sheepish guy took the middle seat in front of the main stage, and the rest surrounded him, laughing like morons. Sarah was at the bar, waiting to go on in a couple hours, occasionally she'd make money just by showing her tits to guys, and she enjoyed just hanging out while still getting more attention than the girl on stage. One of the bigger grinning idiots from the group, a broad shoulder, somewhat cute guy in his late twenties, approached Sarah and drunkenly slurred, 

"I promised my buddy over there," pointing to the obvious groom to be, "That I would find the hottest girl in the place and buy him a private dance, and you have got to be the single hottest piece of stripper ass in this place." 

She was wearing a corset and short booty shorts, which left little to the imagination. She usually liked the attention, but usually the guys were worshipful and shy around her, this guy had an arrogant face and an overconfident smile. Also, his breath smelled like tequila, too much tequila. 

"I usually don't do private dances," Sarah replied. 

The guy grinned wider, "I'm a lawyer. I'm pretty much made of money. I can pay you...a lot." 

OK asshole, Sarah thought. This guy was more than a little cocky. 

Sarah grinned at this, "I guess I could do one for $400." 

"What?! Isn't it usually 100 tops?!" The guy looked flabbergasted. 

"Yeah, but do you see any girl in here as hot as me?" Sarah could be just as cocky if she wanted.

He laughed, "You better be sucking some dick for $400, girly." 

"Excuse me?!" Now it was Sarah who was nonplussed. 

She turned to walk away from this drunken ass when he grabbed her arm with his big sweaty hand. 

"Wow, wow, girly. No need to take offense. I'm sure it'd be worth it just to see you out of that skimpy little outfit. I've never seen such a little hottie with such big titties before! Are those things real?" 

Sarah had had just about enough. 

"Listen asshole, I'm getting pretty tired of your shit, and I'm about to call my friend Mike over there to kick your ass out of here." 

She gestured to a humongous gargoyle of a bouncer standing by the door, and the drunk guy quickly swallowed. 

"Wow, wow. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. My mouth gets me in trouble sometimes. I'm Dave." 

He stuck out his hand to shake hers, and after eyeing it suspiciously for a moment, Sarah reluctantly shook it 

"Sarah." 

"Okay, Sarah. It's nice to meet you. Like I said, I'm flush tonight...like always." 

Sarah rolled her eyes. This cocky asshole was unbelievable. 

"But $400 is a bit steep. I may have to do some quality control to see if it's worth it." Dave looked her up and down, and she felt his eyes on her body. 

"Quality control?" She asked. 

"Yeah, you give me a quick lapdance for $100, just two songs, and I'll see if it's worth it for my buddy." 

Her patience was wearing thin, and if only to get rid of this guy, who was starting to piss her off, she agreed. 

"Fine, asshole. Let's go." 

Dave laughed at this. "Ooooh this pussy cat likes to scratch!" Again Sarah rolled her eyes, this guy was getting on her nerves. 

She led him back to a small dark 10X10 room with a curtain and a good deal of distance separating them from the club. 

"Mmmm, I like it back here. Nice and private." 

Dave said having a seat on the small black leather couch in front of Sarah. 

"Okay, asshole. Just shut the fuck up and thank God you even get to look at me, and remember, no touching or we are done here." 

Looking him over, Sarah noticed he was a pretty big guy, about 6'3" with pretty wide shoulders, not unattractive, but definitely not the hottest guy ever, although from his cocky grin, you'd never know. Sarah was dressed in a black corset and black booty shorts with nylons. Dave noticed that she somehow resembled both Megan Fox or Mila Kunis and at the same time didn't, possessing a hotness all her own, he concluded however that she was definitely more on the hot side than cute, he also couldn't believe how petite her frame was despite her obvious bustiness. Just looking at her he was already getting a chubby despite his intoxicated state, and he was very excited to see her dance, get naked, and feel her small round ass on his lap. 

Sarah began dancing with the first song. Her eyes closed as she moved her hips and rubbed her petite, curvy body with her hands, enjoying the feeling of her own young flesh. She tended to get lost in the music when she danced, and she never wasted much time before shedding her clothes, as if even she couldn't wait to feel her own naked young flesh. Dave gasped at everything he saw- the way she moved, her beautiful, suddenly lust-filled face, her full round tits, clearly real but youthfully weightless, her lithe young body moving to the music. Sarah was completely oblivious to the young asshole she had instantly hated, sitting there watching her move with a lewd sinister expression on his arrogant face. Sarah rubbed her hands down her body, somehow lost to thoughts of the young man. Suddenly she turned to watch Dave watch her, his confident gaze never leaving her face, it always turned her on to dance even if it was for some asshole, she worked her hands across her body feeling her tits and her pussy through her shorts. She slowly worked her shorts down while bending over revealing her small round ass, a red thong barely covering her small pussy. 

As the first song ended, she thought to herself, 'I'll show this motherfucker who's worth the money.' 

"Nice first act, girly," Dave said, repositioning himself, "Not worth $400, but you're definitely one of the finest pieces of pussy I've ever seen," 

"One of? I thought I told you to shut the fuck up and just thank God you get to look at me." 

With her words, he realized that truly he'd never seen anyone nearly as hot in his life.

The second song began. She approached him and swung her leg over his right leg, positioning her small ass on his leg facing him. Slowly, rhythmically to the music, she began grinding her thong covered crotch across his right leg. 

"Remember, no touching, asshole," She reminded him. 

She knew most men had a hard time resisting. And although she hadn't given many lapdances before, she had problems with men's inability to control themselves in the past. Ultimately, she was able to control most men in the past with her beauty and a few words alone, so she didn't worry much. Suddenly, she turned around, bending over and showing Dave her small ass, wiggling it seductively in his face. 

"I bet you want to touch this ass so bad, don't you, asshole," she teased. 

She lowered her ass onto his lap, and as she began rubbing her ass across his groin for the first time, she felt a thick long bulge from his groin to his mid-thigh. The shape and feel of it told her it couldn't be anything other than a big fat hard cock. She hesitated, startled momentarily from the huge distraction beneath her. 'Holy fuck that's big,' she thought to herself. Dave noticed her noticing. 

"Anything the matter, my little pussy cat?" Dave asked cockily." 

For once she was at a loss for words. Big cocks were a big turn on for Sarah, and this was a BIG one. Still, she hated this guy, his arrogance, bravado, and chauvinism- she couldn't give him the satisfaction. She turned her head, trying to maintain her composure. 

"I told you to shut the fuck up. I was just thinking I've probably never met as big of a dick as you in my life."

"Met as big of a dick? Or did you mean 'felt'," Dave asked chuckling.

"Fuck you, you just can't shut the fuck up can you. I guess I'll have to make you shut up," Sarah replied, trying to get control back over the situation.

Again, she began to move her small round ass across his groin in time with the music- a loud club jam that she knew had at least 5 minutes left. Up and down his seemingly impossible length, she moved her luscious ass, feeling the meaty heat of the big cock beneath her. 'Fuck that feels so big,' she continued to think to herself. As the song thumped on, she continued writhing more vigorously, once again getting lost in the song and the heat of his cock right against her thong covered pussy, he clearly had worn some thin pants and had gone commando. Her breathing got heavier, and despite herself, she began grinding into him, feeling her pussy dampen and her nipples harden. Despite herself, her movements became a bouncing writhing fucking motion, moving up and down and grinding into his big cock. She began feeling her big round tits with her hands and leaning back against him. Her breathing became panting.

Suddenly Dave's hands were on her tits pinching her nipples and squeezing her big tits. Abruptly, the reality of the situation dawned on her. Turning and trying to hide the lust in her eyes she faced Dave. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing asshole?! I told you NO touching." 

Dave had his same cocky grin on. 

"Sorry, sorry. I guess I just misread the moment." 

For a moment, her breath caught as she stared down at the huge bulge in his pants. She was seated on his right leg still, and it was tenting down his left thigh. Clearly, she was staring, but somehow, she couldn't stop. Again that lust came into her eyes. 

"Or maybe I didn't," Dave chuckled as he quickly unzipped his pants, reached down his leg, and pulled out his cock. 

Sarah's mouth dropped as a huge hard fat dick swung up, swollen and inflamed with huge veins and an enormous fat prick head at the crown. 

"Oh my god! What the fuck!" She almost yelled, bringing her hand to her mouth in a shocked expression. 

It didn't dissuade Dave. He started stroking his large prick in his hand. Sarah eyed the monster before her. 

"Fuck, put it away motherfucker!" Why can't you stop staring, Sarah thought to herself, as she tried to change her face from awe to disgust. 

"You don't really want that do you?" Dave asked chuckling. God she hated this cocky fucker, but she really liked the look of his big prick. 

"Fuck you!" She said, still struggling to hold onto her dignity, "I can't fucking believe what a jerk you are." 

She was covering her mouth, trying with everything in her not to look at his impressive specimen, but she wasn't running away. Dave took this as a good sign. The house jam thumped on in the private room. Suddenly, it dawned on Sarah how private the room was, nobody could hear them. Dave continued to stroke his engorged meat. 

"C'mon I could feel you rubbing on it. That was no normal lap dance, honey. You know you can't stop staring at it," He laughed. For the first time, Sarah smiled. 

"You're a real fucker you know that," she said, slapping his shoulder hard. 

"Ouch!" Dave joked, still stroking his cock, "Okay, I'll tell you what. If you tell me to put it away one more time, I'll put it away, pay you your money, and walk out of here. You never have to see me or my big prick again." Dave smiled at Sarah's face which clearly showed the signs of an internal struggle, wavering somewhere between lust and hatred. 

Sarah knew she was fighting a losing battle, his huge dick had already made her pussy soaking wet, and some part of her had already resolved to fuck this asshole. Luckily for Dave, when Sarah decided to fuck a guy, that guy became the luckiest guy on earth for a little while. She knew how to fuck, how to talk dirty, how to use her young hot body, and she wasn't opposed to taking cum in her mouth. She loved to fuck, and once her reluctance was out the window, she turned into a total shameless slut. No longer reluctant, she turned her attention to Dave, who sat still stroking his immense prick.

"Fuck. Why is it always assholes like you that have the big dicks?" She asked looking up into his face with her beautiful brown eyes and a wicked smile on her face. 

"Just lucky I guess," Dave chuckled. 

Kneeling before him, Sarah gazed confidently into his face, "You're about to find out how lucky," she said, as she replaced his large hands with her dainty, manicured hands, which looked comically small as they vainly tried to encircle his manhood. 

"You're a cocky fucker, aren't you? You think you're just going to show me this huge cock, and I'm just going to get on my knees, wrap my little 20 year old hands around your big, fat cock," she said, monologuing her actions, "and start worshipping every inch of your fat fuckpole?" 

With both hands struggling to encompass the circumference of his wrist thick dick, she put the enormous head into her mouth, removed it with a loud popping sound, and licked the length of his prodigious shaft from the base back to the head. 

"Mmmm, it's so fucking big!" She wondered gazing as she stroked her spit up and down his huge shiny dick. "No wonder you're such a cocky asshole. Still I bet you've never had anyone as hot as me suck your big dick before, have you?" Dave looked down at the 20 year old, beautiful, petite, stacked stripper on her knees before him. 

"Girly, nobody's ever had a babe as hot as you suck his dick before. I sure do like those young pouty lips on my dick. I bet you have a boyfriend don't you." She giggled as she continued to gaze transfixed while stroking his huge member. 

"Maybe," She answered coyly, "But he doesn't have a super fat monster dick, like this," She said knowing this guy must love having his ego inflated. 

"Girly, you don't seem to be a stranger to big dicks," Dave chuckled, as Sarah returned to the task of gagging on his immense cock.

"My boyfriend is about 7 inches. I thought that was big, yours is way longer and so much fatter." She said returning to the task at hand. She began sucking the amazing big dick in front of her, amazed at how bloated and fat it looked in her small hands and how immense it felt filling her mouth and throat, every once in a while she'd stop and verbalize her thoughts, saying only the wickedest thoughts that crept into her perverted mind, "Fuck you have such a huge fucking dick!" Or, "I can't believe how big this dick is!" 

Her pussy was soaking her tiny thong, and young Sarah wanted to get fucked more and more with every lick of Dave's big prick. After a few minutes of cock worship, playful licking and stroking, Sarah began jerking his prick with her left hand, as her other small hand crept down to her thong soaked pussy. She moved her small panties to the side and began furiously rubbing her clit and fingering her hole. Dave watched the enthralled babe before him, his cock eclipsing her young beautiful face with its size, as she lustfully sucked his cock and fingered her pussy. This girl was going to make him cum harder than any girl, or himself for that matter, had ever managed before. Finally, he felt like he was about to pop. 'Not without fucking her first,' he thought.

"You want to fuck that big dick girly?" Dave asked the pouting sex bomb before him who continued to stroke his cock with a coy grin on her face. Without answering, Sarah got up and removed her small red thong revealing a beautiful hairless pussy. She mounted Dave, reaching between her legs to grasp the base of his enormous prick as Dave began sucking her big firm 36C tits. She eased herself down onto his fat cock head. 

"Fuck your dick is so fucking big!" She yelled as she began to take him inside of her tight, wet pussy, "You're fucking stretching my pussy with your fat cock!" 

She moaned as she began descending down his shaft. Dave's big hands were on her petite round ass, squeezing her soft young flesh and guiding her down onto his immense cock. His cock was so thick at the base that, for a moment, Sarah wondered if she could take him, she rocked back up until just the tip was inside her then reaching between her legs and rubbing her soaked pussy she gathered her pussy juice and reached down to lube Dave's cock with her juices. 

"Fuck, I've got to get that big fat dick nice and wet for my little pussy." She pouted at Dave.

"Fuck you're such a horny little slut, aren't you?" he asked, encouraging her dirty talk. 

She guided herself down onto his cock taking his whole immense pole inside of her pussy, relishing the width and depth as it dove inside of her, filling her completely. 

"FUCK! It's so fucking big!" She yelled as she began rocking up and down his cock. "Suck those tits while I fuck myself on your big dick!" 

Dave simply sat there enjoying this young slutty bombshell writhe on his cock, which was so hard it felt like a redwood tree. Sarah's pussy was so deliciously tight she could feel every contour and vein of Dave's dick. She felt so slutty riding this asshole's big cock, and she couldn't stop telling him how good it felt. 

"You like watching your little stripper slut ride your giant dick? Fuck it's so big and fat, it feels like a baseball bat is in my little pussy. Is it worth it? Huh? Paying little sluts money to fuck themselves on your huge cock?" Sarah pouted her big lips at Dave, her pussy was JUST accommodating his big cock, as it spread to its limits, and coated his pole in her young cream. 

As yet another house jam started, she was starting to get some pace as she worked her pussy up and down his pole. 

"Fuck it's so big and hard! It's so much dick to take in such a little pussy. You're spreading my little pussy so wide. Are you going to fuck me til I can't walk? Are you going to cripple me with your monster cock?" 

She smiled as she goaded him on, inflating his ego and his cock with every filthy sentence, 

"Look how fucking big it is inside me," She said looking between her widespread legs, "My little pussy can barely take your huge cock. Oh fuck! My pussy is so wet, I'm cumming all over your huge cock." 

Dave suddenly lifted her off his dick and stood up. 

"Get on your fucking knees," he commanded.

She quickly dropped to her knees in front of the big man, his large cum-covered cock eclipsing her face with its mass, he swung it in front of her beautiful face. 




Quality Control



"Fuck look at that big beautiful cum covered dick," She said as she looked up into his eyes, the length of his cock laying across her face. "Mmmm, you want me to suck my pussy juice off of your massive cock?" 

She began licking his cock before cramming it into her throat. 

"Mmmm, I never suck my boyfriend's dick like this." She said with another wicked glint in her big brown eyes. 

He began fucking her face vigorously grabbing the back of her head and pulling her mouth onto him, stretching it obscenely wide around his girth. The cocky guy looked down at the 20 year old college student kneeling before him- 5'5", 100 nothing pounds, big perky 36C tits, tanned skin and beautiful face, as she paid her way through college by stripping off her clothes. Just a moment ago she had hated him- thought he was an asshole- now she was worshipping his cock with unprecedented vigor, absolutely enthralled with the size of his cock. Sarah had never had anything as big, she had watched pornos before and seen guys who might be as big, but the cock in front of her was huge, meaty and real, and it pulsed in her little hands and throat. Her pussy was already sore from the beating it took from his horse cock, and she'd already cum multiple times from feeling it stretch her pussy to its limits with his girthy cock, she was ready for him to cum. 

"You still think I'm an asshole?" he asked. 

She laughed at him, "Of course, you're a fucking asshole." 

"Then tell me why you're on your knees sucking my dick." 

"Spoken like a true asshole," She said. 

"Tell me," he repeated. 

"Mmm you know why, mother fucker," She said viciously biting his thick meat. 

"Tell me, bitch," he said commandingly, but still wearing that arrogant smile. 

"Because your dick's so fucking big, that's why. It's the biggest, fattest dick I've ever seen. I could feel it on my ass when I was grinding on you and it made my pussy so fucking wet, then I had to have it in my mouth and my little pussy." Dave's Dick swelled at her words. 

"Tell me what you want, girly?" Dave asked. 

"Mmmm, I want this monster cock to cum on my face. I want to watch this giant fuckpole explode all over me." 

With those words, a rush of thick cum streamed from Dave's cock all over Sarah's young beautiful face as she furiously jerked his cock with both her young small hands. 

"FUCK ME!" Dave yelled as he continued to ejaculate all over Sarah. She bathed in it as if it was streaming from the fountain of youth, and his cum would keep her forever young, relishing the young man's nasty spunk. 

"Fuck you are one young nasty slut," Dave panted as he jerked the remainder of his cum onto her outstretched tongue. Sarah was absolutely cum covered, as she rubbed his spunk onto her tits and young lithe body feeling thoroughly fucked. 

"You're still an asshole," Sarah retorted, as she rose from her knees, and put her clothes back on wiping the guy's cum off her face with her panties. 

"So I guess I'll go get the groom, girly!" Dave chuckled, "I can't promise you he has a big one, too, but I suspect you'll make it worth the $400 anyways." He laughed tossing her a wad of cash. 

"After getting fucked like that," Sarah said, honestly, "I don't think I could take another dick for weeks." Despite herself, she smiled at the guy. "If you're lucky, maybe you can come back and do some more quality control next week," she winked at Dave, as she walked out the curtain, and Dave collapsed back onto the couch.

...to be continued...  



Quality Control Ch. 02



Dr. Fanny Fanner remembered her first subject--or, as she now preferred to think of her, her first victim. The young blonde had surprised the physicist by opting to participate in a scientific study in which the bitch had been warned, more than once, by the scientist herself, that she'd experience pain and humiliation. The tart was more than pretty enough to earn better money as a stripper or an exotic dancer. Instead, she'd chosen to be spanked, and spanked hard, for more modest remuneration, and despite her youth and apparent innocence, the little blonde with the small tits and tight, compact ass had proved quite the veteran pain slut. As she'd departed, her ass red and decorated with welts and bruises, she'd actually asked to be invited back!

Although the bitch would always occupy a special place in the researcher's heart, for it was the sexy young blonde who'd awakened the physicist to her own slumbering attraction for members of her own sex, Dr. Fanner had decided to recruit a different pool of potential subjects from which to choose in conducting the spanking machine test that she was performing today. She'd selected a nubile young redhead who, as far as Dr. Fanner could tell through the clingy blouse and tight jeans that the little strumpet had worn to the preliminary interview, had fine tits and a sweet ass. Since discovering her own latent lesbianism, Dr. Fanner had decided to play the field, as it were, by selecting various women as the subjects for the several spanking machines that remained for her to test.

Like the blonde, the redhead, young, pretty, and innocent looking, arrived naked, having disrobed in the locker room at the end of the hall that opened off the anteroom to the chamber in which the machine, already assembled, awaited testing, and, trying to project a professional demeanor, despite her swelling clitoris and the moisture gathering within her cunt, Dr. Fanner inspected the redhead's body as the subject stood before her, unashamed, awaiting the physicist's instructions.

The bitch was hot, all right, just as the scientist had anticipated. Her face was lovely. Wavy red hair framed a Valentine's heart-shaped countenance in which wide-set blue eyes; a thin nose; and soft, full lips gave the young woman a little-girl look that was belied by her firm, high, round, if smallish, tits, which boasted nipples that were erect from either the room's air conditioning or her own anxiety or passion, or, perhaps, a combination thereof; her gently flowing hips; the strip of trimmed pubic hair on either side of her dimpled sex; and her full, lovely pair of buttocks, which, especially pale, like the rest of the redhead's fair complexion, would look absolutely superb after the machine had done its work on them.

With the blonde, Dr. Fanner had made sure that the subject had understood what was in store for her as a subject in the testing of a spanking machine, but the physicist didn't concern herself with whether the redhead truly understood what she'd agreed to suffer for the sake of "science." The little bitch was of age, and her signature was legal. That was all that mattered, really. Besides, she might be as big a pain slut as the blonde tart had shown herself to be. Maybe the redhead wanted to be spanked, needed to feel humiliated, craved pain. Dr. Fanner smiled. If so, she told herself, she'd accommodate the little floozy.

"What's your name?" the scientist asked her subject.

"Vivian."

Dr. Fanner hadn't asked the blonde's name. It had seemed to her, then, that doing so might be unethical. After all, protocol required that the subjects remain anonymous. Since seeing the young blonde bitch's delight in being spanked and since learning of her own lesbian leanings, such issues no longer mattered to Dr. Fanner. She wanted to feel a bit more intimate with her victim, and knowing the subject's name would create a sense of closeness that would be otherwise missing or negligible.

"I'm Dr. Fanner," she informed the redheaded beauty. "But you can call me Fanny."

The little bimbo blushed. "Fanny?"

Given the nature of the work that the scientist was doing, testing spanking machines, her name, which was also a euphemism for the buttocks, had struck the redhead as a bit embarrassing. Maybe the little bitch was as innocent as she looked, after all, the physicist thought. Smiling, she said, "That's right. Fanny."

"Nice to meet you, Fanny," Vivian said, unable to repress a giggle.

She wouldn't be laughing for long, Dr. Fanner thought. "Follow me, Vivian, and we'll get started."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fanny," Dr. Fanner corrected her.

"Yes, Fanny," the young woman said, giggling again.

They crossed the anteroom, entering the chamber in which the spanking machine had been erected. "Here we are," the scientist told her subject.

Vivian gasped as she took in the sight of the bizarre contraption.

Using her professional voice, the researcher explained that Vivian would lie prone upon the tabletop, her legs bent at the knees so that her calves extended upright and could be strapped to the poles that were formed by the upward extensions of the rear table legs. Her arms would be extended along the front legs of the table, where they'd be secured by straps around her wrists. Her buttocks would lie beneath the machine's four rubber paddles. These paddles were attached in staggered pairs, one of which would strike Vivian's left buttock, and the other of which would strike her right buttock. "Any questions?" she asked her wide-eyed subject.

Vivian couldn't take her eyes off the machine. Wordlessly, she shook her head.

"Why don't you lie down on the table, then, and we'll get started."

The young redhead tossed her right leg over the cold steel table, the metal feeling like ice to her naked thigh, and lay down, exposing her stomach, breasts, and lower legs to the frigid surface as well. She bent her knees, as Fanny had instructed her to do, and the scientist strapped the leather restraints about her elevated ankles. Vivian raised her hands over her head, her breasts flattening further beneath her, on the ice-cold tabletop, and Fanny secured her wrists in the straps at the head of the table. The physicist ensured that Vivian's cute bottom was situated precisely beneath the metal roller in which the necks of the rubber paddles were embedded so that, when the roller turned, the blades of the paddles would strike the redhead's buttocks with maximum efficiency.

"The test will last three minutes," Dr. Fanner informed her subject.

Vivian relaxed, releasing her breath in a long, audible sigh. No doubt, the scientist surmised, the young woman had taken comfort in the knowledge that the test would be completed in such a short period of time. Three minutes would be over before she knew it, the redhead must have thought. Dr. Fanner knew better. Just as the blonde bitch had found, the redhead would also learn that three minutes could seem an eternity beneath the paddles of a mechanical device that had no feelings, no moral scruples, and no capacity for compassion, empathy, or pity.

Surprising herself by her impulsive daring, the scientist gave her subject's bare bottom a reassuring pat. "You ready, Vivian?"

"Yes, Fanny."

Dr. Fanner smiled. "Well, then, my pretty, let me fan your fanny."

Vivian giggled.

By flipping a switch on the side of the machine, Dr. Fanner set the contraption in motion, and the overhead roller began, slowly, to turn. However, within a few seconds, its speed had increased dramatically, and the sturdy rubber paddles began, one after another, to rise, fall, and slam into Vivian's defenseless buttocks. Dr. Fanner watched, pen poised over the clipboard she held in hand, ready to record pertinent observations. 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. Worse yet for Vivian, at predetermined intervals, the roller's speed would increase.

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, dampening the black slacks she wore with her starched, pressed lab coat. The scientist repressed a moan of her own, as her clit began to throb and her nipples stiffened beneath her bra and blouse. She looked at the cleft of her victim's bald sex. 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. Perhaps the pain that inflamed the redhead's butt cheeks would bring the little slut to orgasm, the scientist thought. She noticed that the clipboard she held trembled in her hands, and she set it aside, unable to take notes, anyway, caught up as she'd become in the spectacle of the lovely redhead's misery.

The roller's speed increased, the paddles coming round faster and faster, the one on the left smacking the helpless young woman's left buttock while its partner on the right side of the roller, a moment later, delivered an impact of equal force to the subject's other ass cheek. In turn, the next pair of paddles delivered their staggered blows to Vivian's fanny, as the roller brought the paired paddles on its left and right sides around again to repeat their assault. The tears that had gathered in the redhead's wide blue eyes spilled down her cheeks as she began to sob almost hysterically, pleading between her howls of pain for mercy and begging Fanny to shut off the merciless machine.

Her pleas fell upon deaf ears, for Dr. Fanner, her cunt awash in the juices of her own passion, was far too excited to let the test end prematurely. Her thighs became like a pair of scissors, quickly and repeatedly clenching themselves so that the muscles quivered back and forth, and her clit stiffened further. Another flood of cunt juices spilled into her silk panties and saturated the fabric of her slacks. She was glad she'd had the foresight to wear black. The stain of her pussy's fluids would not show easily. If she became too wet down there, she could always button her knee-length lab coat to hide the evidence of her aroused passion.

"Turn it off!" Vivian blubbered. "Turn the machine off, please!"

The paddles spun round, colliding hard against the redhead's silk-smooth buttocks. The creamy flesh of the firm-soft mounds was now bright red. Just as Dr. Fanner had anticipated, the lovely orbs glowed, imparting a sense of robust health and even, somehow, jollity. However, Vivian's shrieks and attempts to free herself from her bonds suggested the opposite of gaiety and fun. Her screams and struggles indicated pain and misery, but even these emotional signals were contradicted by the puddle of pussy juices upon the tabletop between her legs, and, noting these contradictions, Dr. Fanner was impressed with how fine the line was that separates pain and pleasure. She supposed that, in Vivian's confused mind, there must be a welter of such conflicting emotions, just as, in her flesh, the burning anguish within her fiery-red buttocks was contradicted by the wildly blissful feelings within her clitoris and cunt.

The roller's rotations accelerated, the rubber paddles moving in a blur, round and round, as they swatted the redhead's crimson bottom, slap after slap resounding throughout the test chamber and seeming to resonate within Dr. Fanner's own cunt and clit. Again, the scientist was seized with a powerful, nearly overwhelming paroxysm of sheer ecstasy. Her knees buckled, and her legs nearly failed her. She staggered forward, her hand instinctively outstretched to break a fall, should it come, and she reeled into the tabletop upon which her subject, or victim, lay, continuing to receive swats of the rapidly rotating paddles upon her inflamed fanny.

As Dr. Fanner pitched forward, her outstretched palm shoved hard into the redhead's perineum, and several of the scientist's splayed fingers pushed past Vivian's slick, wet labia and into the redhead's liquid cunt. Horrified at this accidental breach in researcher-subject protocol, and afraid she might lose her job for such an infraction, unintended though it had been, Dr. Fanner jerked her hand away, little noticing how slick and wet it was with the young woman's cunt juices, and gasped, "I'm sorry. That wasn't intentional."

However, Vivian paid her no mind. She was lost in a world of pain, Dr. Fanner realized. All the poor redhead could fathom was the misery with which her bottom was infused, the pain in which the muscles of her buttocks were immersed, and the torment in which her own consciousness was steeped. She hadn't even felt Dr. Fanner's hand inside her pussy, nor did she seem to be aware that the scientist was standing over her.

Dr. Fanner smiled. She resumed her station, wiping her cunt-wet hand upon her lab coat, and continued to watch the paddles slap, swat, and smack the young redhead's tight, firm ass. Vivian wept, shrieked, and sobbed, lurching and straining against her restraints, as the paddles continued their relentless, merciless assault upon her red bottom, adding bruises and welts to the rosy background of discolored flesh, and, then, as suddenly as the beating had begun, it ended, the wheel slowing to a halt, with a paddle poised to strike the young woman's battered buttocks. This was a blow, Dr. Fanner thought, disappointed, that would never befall the redhead's waiting buttocks.

Vivian was unable to speak. All she could do was cry. Although she had endured many swats of the rubber paddles, her buttocks were not as nasty a sight as they might have been, Dr. Fanner thought. They were bright red, seeming to glow, and there were a few purple bruises upon the well-spanked cheeks, and a few more, probably, were yet to surface in the redhead's sore and aching flesh, but the young blonde who'd tested the efficiency of the first machine had undergone more severe punishment than Vivian had experienced, and the blonde bitch's ass had shown more bruises than the redhead's paler bottom exhibited. Both had wet themselves, though, with equal enthusiasm.

Perhaps Vivian's level of pain tolerance was less than the blonde's had been, or perhaps the blonde had had more experience in being spanked than Vivian had had. The blonde, in retrospect, had seemed something of a pain slut, whereas Vivian had likely been a virgin when it came to receiving serious spankings. In any case, the test was complete, and Vivian had survived.

The machine had been effective in general, although, in two respects, its performance had been somewhat disappointing, Dr. Fanner thought. The roller turned in only one direction, and the paired paddles couldn't turn independently of one another. The contraption had done an excellent job in spanking Vivian's ass, but the machine's design could bear improvement. The same had been true of the first machine that the scientist had tested on the blonde, and the same, she imagined, would likely to be true with regard to the others she'd test in the weeks ahead.

Meanwhile, there was possibly another matter to which Dr. Fanner, as Fanny, could attend, if Vivian were interested. She knew that, as a scientist, she was crossing a line and, quite possibly, endangering her career, but, as a lesbian, Fanny also knew that, sooner or later, whatever the consequences, she must come out of the closet, and it might as well be sooner than later, she thought. In fact, it might as well be now.

Affecting a gentle, nurturing, maternal demeanor, she released Vivian from her fetters, helped her to sit, clucking empathetically at the redhead's wincing expressions and cooing soothingly at the young woman's gasps and moans. Dr. Fanner helped the redhead to stand, to shuffle across the room and into the anteroom beyond the chamber that housed the diabolical machine they'd just tested together. The scientist led her subject to the couch in the waiting room. She helped Vivian to sit, noticing how gingerly the redhead settled her injured bottom onto the deep, soft cushions. The physicist's cunt wetted itself again, and her clit throbbed with an intense ache. The lesbian bent, bringing her face close to the teary redhead's wet countenance. She leaned still closer, so close that she could feel the heat of Vivian's face, and she whispered, "I could help take your mind off the pain."

Through her tears, the redhead, her voice atremble, asked, "You can?"

Dr. Fanner kissed her victim's soft, full lips. "I can, right here, right now. Would you like that, Vivian?"

The young woman nodded. "Yes," she whispered, "please."

Dr. Fanner parted the young woman's knees and knelt upon the carpeted floor, between the redhead's wide-spread legs. The physicist bowed, as if at an altar, and opened her mouth, inserting her tongue into the sopping-wet trough of Vivian's warm, liquid cunt. It was the first pussy that the scientist had ever sampled, and Fanny meant to enjoy it, right down to the final drop.

On the couch, the redhead moaned again, this time in sheer pleasure, as the physicist's head began to move back and forth and from side to side, her lips kissing the redhead's petal-soft and bedewed labia, nuzzling and licking the bud of the young woman's hard, swollen clitoris, and lapping at the nectar of Vivian's incredibly beautiful, unbelievably tender, amazingly soft center.

The scientist had more machines to test, which meant that she'd need more subjects, which meant that she had more beautiful young women to interview and select and test, but, at the moment, she was enjoying the lovely little slut who was with her, here and now.

Vivian moaned, and Fanny plunged her tongue hard against the redhead's clitoris, her own cunt a river flowing fast into the sea of her lesbian soul.



Quality Control Ch. 03



For the third spanking machine that she was testing, Dr. Fanny Fanner decided to select a brunette subject. She'd already chosen a blonde and a redhead. The blonde, a cute little pain slut, had alerted the physicist to her attraction to members of her own sex. The redhead, a virgin to severe discipline, had been Dr. Fanner's first lesbian lover. The sex between them hadn't amounted to all that much, just a little muff diving on the scientist's part, but the researcher had enjoyed it, as, she believed, the redhead had as well.

Dr. Fanner was looking forward to the present test. Not only would it allow her to enjoy the nudity of another sexy young woman, the brunette, this time, but it would also permit her to see another of the fabulous spanking machines in action. It was sexy as hell, watching a nubile young thing get her lovely ass paddled until it was sore enough for her to want the relief that Dr. Fanner was in a position to offer her well before anyone else could do so.

Landing the job as Spank-o-Matic's quality control expert hadn't seemed much more to Dr. Fanner than a temporary measure which would enable her to pay the rent, buy groceries, and pay her other bills until she could get a real job. Admittedly, the company's rather kinky product line had seemed a little hip, if naughty, but it had also seemed a bit absurd. It wasn't a line of work with which she'd want to be associated for long. She was a physicist, after all, with a doctorate from a respected, Ivy League university, and testing spanking machines wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind as a career when she'd enrolled or what her parents had had in mind when they'd footed the considerable cost that a first-rate education entailed.

No, testing spanking machines had been but a stopgap measure. Dr. Fanner had never imagined that she'd love the job, any more than she'd have guessed that she had a yen, previously unknown even to herself, for the ladies, nor had she known that seeing a beautiful young woman spanked by a merciless mechanical apparatus could wet her pussy and make her weak in the knees. A year ago, the scientist wouldn't have believed it, but life--even her own--was full of surprises. She was living proof of it.

The first two machines she'd tested had operated on the principle of the wheel. This latest one was different. A left paddle and a right paddle, each of which was attached to a long, horizontal lever, would alternately strike the corresponding buttock of the subject, who would be bent over an upholstered spanking bench to which she'd be bound by her ankles, waist, and wrists. Another difference in this design was that it could be operated by remote control. The others had to be activated by the drop of a coin and the throwing of a switch, respectively.

The subject for the present test, a young hottie named Debbie, was naked, of course, as all the subjects of the tests were required to be, and she was already in place, awaiting Dr. Fanner's instructions. The physicist paused for as long as she thought seemly, availing herself of the opportunity to study the lovely brunette's charming assets.

Debbie had fuller breasts than either the blonde or the redhead had had. The scientist had surmised as much during her initial interview with her, and the brunette's larger tits was one of the reasons that the researcher had decided to hire Debbie. Although Dr. Fanner preferred smaller to larger boobs, she was after a little variety in her choice of her third subject, and Debbie's bigger breasts, wider hips, and more substantial ass filled the bill in this regard. It wasn't that the young brunette was fat. She wasn't. She was just larger in general. She was rather Amazonian, in fact--tall, dark, and handsome, with well-toned muscles. She was also quite beautiful, better looking than either the blonde or the redhead, both of whom were themselves quite lovely.

Debbie had shoulder-length, wavy locks, the color of milk chocolate, and her complexion was rather more bronze than pink. Her areolas and nipples were also darker than the pink rosebuds of the blonde and the redhead. She had pubic hair, but it was trim, not a tangled mess. Her limbs were long and shapely. Her ass was full, round, firm, and tight. Her face was gorgeous. She had dark brown eyes between thick upper and lower lashes, a small nose, and full, sensuous lips. Her chin was not as small as the other women's had been, but it was feminine, nevertheless. Were Dr. Fanner to compare Debbie's looks to those of a celebrity, she would pick Lucy Lawless, although, if the truth were to be told, Debbie was more attractive than the Xena star, and Debbie's skin tone was darker, Lawless' being rather pale.

Debbie stood upon the machine's low, flat platform, her ankles strapped against the bottom of the steel beam that connected the base 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 leather straps around her wrist that were attached to the shelf's upper surface. Between her feet, a small box was situated, to which the 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.

By pressing a button on her remote control, Dr. Fanner could activate the machine, change its operating speed, or bring the spanking to an end. The remote control was also equipped with a timer that could both determine the total amount of time that the machine would perform and the lengths of the intervals, during the set period of operation, at which the paddles functioned at predetermined speeds. Debbie selected three minutes for the overall operation of the machine, breaking this period into one-minute segments at which the paddles would strike the subject's buttocks at slow, medium, and high speeds, respectively.

The paddles moved slowly at first, the left alternating with the right 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.

Although her ass was starting to sting, it was only mildly sore, and she didn't appear unduly alarmed. Already, a minute had passed, and she was only a little the worse for the wear. This wasn't nearly as bad as she'd expected, Debbie thought. In fact, it wasn't a bad way at all to earn a hundred dollars.

The paddles began to smack her ass much more quickly as the timer caused the machine to shift into a higher speed, and Debbie, startled, cried out. She glanced back, over her shoulder, at Dr. Fanner, who was looking on calmly, a pen poised over the clipboard that she held in her hand. "What the hell's going on?" the subject demanded of the researcher. "The paddles are spanking me much more quickly!"

"They're supposed to," the physicists replied, informing Debbie that they were now moving at the second-fastest speed of which they were capable.

Second-fast, the scientists thought, was plenty fast if one were on the receiving end of the machine's onslaught! A paddle landed every two seconds, one to the subject's left ass cheek, followed by the other to Debbie's right buttock, whereas, before, on the "Slow" setting, the paddles had moved at only half this rate of speed.

"Second-fastest?" Debbie cried. "You mean there's an even faster speed?"

Dr. Fanner smiled. "There is," she acknowledged.

The subject looked frightened. "Stop this damned thing!" she ordered.

Dr. Fanner's smile broadened. "Not until the test is completed." She glanced at her watch. "You have a minute and a half yet to go." Like the other subjects before her, Debbie had signed an ironclad contract with Spank-o-Matic, agreeing to endure the full three minutes of the test, and Dr. Fanner had no intention of letting her off the hook. Doing so would ruin the test. Besides, the scientist was looking forward to the cries and tears she felt certain were only moments away.

The paddles swatted the subject's bottom again and again, until Debbie's ass cheeks had become more red than otherwise, and the oblong impressions in her buttocks threatened to become bruises rather than merely slightly discolored impressions of the paddles. Debbie gasped. A paddle struck her left buttock. She moaned. The other paddle walloped her other ass cheek. She groaned. As, again and again, the paddles swatted her, more or less in the same spot, she began to whimper, on the verge of losing her dignity entirely.

Spank-o-Matic was a startup company financed by the owner of a sex novelties company, Dr. Fanner had been told when she'd interview for the position as the corporation's quality control expert. Previously, the company had manufactured and distributed giant condoms, boob mugs, penis-shaped lipsticks, edible panties, and a host of sundry other gag items. Its line of spanking machines were its first big-ticket items and its sole foray, to date, into the sadomasochistic and bondage and discipline markets. The hope of the company's owner was that the same people who paid thousands of dollars for spanking benches might shell out equal amounts or more for their choice of a limited line of high-quality spanking machines. Dr. Fanner hadn't been as optimistic about the products' prospects as the company's owner had been, but she'd needed a job, and she'd kept her opinion to herself. Now, after seeing the machines in action for herself, she'd revised her opinion. Once they'd perfected them, the contraptions, she believed, would sell like hotcakes.

The machine kicked into its fastest speed, and Dr. Fanner winced as the paddles spanked Debbie's bottom furiously, one smacking its target every second while the other slapped its objective a second later. The sound of one sharp slap was still fading when the report of the next blade was heard: In the first ten seconds after the machine had shifted to its highest speed, Dr. Fanner counted as many swats: Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! Whap! The poor brunette's ass was cherry--no, make that fire-engine--red, and bruises were asserting themselves along the site of the wooden blades' impacts. With fifty seconds remaining of the three minutes that Dr. Fanner had set on the machine, Debbie would receive as many swats, half to her left, and half to her right, buttock.

The brunette's firm ass shook like gelatin, bouncing and jiggling before the repeated impacts of the furiously spanking paddles. Debbie wept openly now, tears streaming down her face, and mucus had formed at her nostrils. Her keening was high and plaintive, like the cry of a seagull in pain. The sound was disturbing, but it was also intensely arousing, Dr. Fanner found. The scientist's cunt was drenched with its own juices, and her clitoris had become so erect that it ached. Part of the researcher's excitement had been caused by Debbie's Amazonian strength and beauty, but most of it was the result of watching the big, beautiful brunette writhe and scream in pain as the paddles continued to alternate in their frantic attack upon the subject's ass, wailing away on Debbie as if the machine were out of control.

Forty seconds had passed of the third minute, the scientist observed, leaving only twenty more seconds to go, but those twenty seconds would be an eternity for poor Debbie!

The blubbering brunette was sobbing like a child, rather than enduring the pain in her buttocks with the stoic disregard of an adult. Debbie looked pathetic, Dr. Fanner thought--and the sorry state of the young woman was exciting, too. The physicist's clit was so stiff that she felt as though it had turned to stone, if not steel, and she longed to strip off own her clothes and masturbate. In her state, she'd no doubt reach orgasm within two or three strokes of her fingers. Her knees wobbled, and her legs nearly gave out on her, but she caught herself, maintaining her balance as she started to fall, and took several quick steps backward, into the wall behind her, supporting herself against its hard, horizontal plane as she continued to ogle the brunette being spanked by the merciless machine.

Debbie's whole ass was red now, and welts and bruises were visible in the discolored flesh. She continued to yelp and howl, tears streaming down her lovely face, as the paddles slapped and swatted her beleaguered bottom. The Amazon's face was a grimace of anguish, and she tossed and turned her head frantically, her chocolate-colored mane flipping and pitching about her neck and shoulders. Her eyes were shut, and, except to shriek of squeal, her mouth closed. Between screams and sobs, she clenched her teeth.

Finally, the machine came to a stop. Debbie lowered her upper body as much as she could, and simply sobbed and whimpered.

Dr. Fanner gave the machine a favorable rating, finding fault with the contraption in only one respect: It would spank vertically, but not horizontally. As far as the scientist was concerned, this design remained, like the two that she had tested before it, a contender. It deserved production and distribution, she thought, and indicated her belief with a notation to the form on her clipboard.

She set her report aside, freed her subject from the leather restraints, and helped Debbie to the couch in the anteroom through which the brunette had entered the spanking chamber a mere ten minutes or so previously, letting the scientist secure her to its frame and waiting patiently for Dr. Fanner to return and commence the test.

Remembering what she'd done to ease the redheaded Vivian's pain, Dr. Fanner said to Debbie, "I can make you feel better, if you want."

Without asking how, the subject nodded vigorously.

"Are you sure?"

Again, Debbie, still crying, but not as loudly now, nodded her assent.

Dr. Fanner wanted to make sure that the Amazon understood her intentions. "I'm going to eat your pussy, all right?"

The brunette looked surprised, then delighted. Again, she nodded energetically, despite the pain that the gesture caused her, and, after removing her own clothing, Dr. Fanner knelt between Debbie's naked thighs.

While the scientist licked and kissed and nuzzled the other woman's labia, clitoris, and vagina, lapping at the brunette's sex through the trim, dark patch or tightly coiled pubic hair, she also fiddled with her own clitoris. The physicist's cunt overflowed, thick juices flowing down her inner thighs. Orgasm was near, and she twiddled the hard, swollen bud of flesh harder and faster. At the same time, she plunged her mouth down, firmly, upon the brunette's pubic mound, lapping at the other woman's tender, swamped pussy. The scientists' face was wet, and it shone beneath the fluorescent lights arrayed across the ceiling high above the lesbian couple. Neither of them saw the researcher's wet, shining countenance, though, for Dr. Fanner herself was facedown in the brunette's sopping cunt, and Debbie had her own eyes closed, concentrating upon the ecstasy building inside her. The pain was still there, burning in her buttocks, but the orgasm upon the edge of which she teetered, was more powerful; a moment later, as Debbie lost control, the orgasm was, in fact, overwhelming, and all she could feel was the terrible power of its pleasure, ravaging her body, mind, and soul.

At the same time that Debbie came, Dr. Fanner also reached the point of no return, climaxing intensely. She shuddered, cried out, shuddered again, gasped, shrieked, moaned, and breathed in loud, ragged breaths; then, the second orgasm hit her, and the third, and she was just a stream of pussy juices and a keening that seemed to go on and on, without end.

It was the best orgasm of her life.

Afterward, when both women were able to speak again, Debbie asked whether there were any more machines left to test.

"Yes," Dr, Fanner said.

"Maybe you'll keep me in mind?"

"You want another spanking." the physicist asked, her tone indicating her disbelief, "after the one I just put you through?"

Debbie smiled. "Yes, I do, and another and another, if, afterward, you ease my pain the same way you did this time."

Dr. Fanner considered Debbie's suggestion. The brunette was gorgeous, and she was big and strong, Amazonian. At the same time, Debbie was entirely feminine. It was tempting to ask her to be the subject of another test--or even all the rest of them. But the physicist had promised herself that she'd use a different woman as her subject each time she tested a different machine, and, as lovely as Debbie was, there were too many other beautiful women to spank for the scientist to settle on any one of them, Debbie included. "I don't think that's a good idea," she said.

Debbie looked hurt and confused.

"There's an alternative, though, if you like," Dr. Fanner suggested.

Debbie looked down at the scientist who was still kneeling, naked, over a puddle of their pussy juices, between Debbie's legs. The scientist's face wet, yet, with her lover's lubricating fluid. "What's that?"

"We could be girlfriends."

Debbie looked delighted. "Really?"

Dr. Fanner shrugged. "Why not?"

"You and me? Girlfriends?"

"As long as I'm the butch, and you're the femme."

Without hesitation, Debbie agreed. "You got it, girlfriend."

"Help me up them, missy."

Debbie extended her hand, the scientist took it, and, remaining seated, the brunette helped the scientist to her feet. In return, the researcher helped her former subject and newfound lover to her feet. The scientist put her arm around the Amazon's waist, Debbie returning the favor, and hands on one another's hips, they walked together, down the hall to the showers, kissing as they went.

Dr. Fanner smiled. Just like that, she'd acquired a girlfriend.

And she still had one more spanking machine to test!



Quality Control Ch. 04



This time, the subject, Sandy, was a thin, almost emaciated, young black woman. Actually, given the high yellow of her skin tone, she was probably a mulatto, although, of course, in these politically correct times, such a term was taboo. Today, if anything, she'd be called "mixed" or "biracial." She was a good-looking little bitch, closely resembling a thinner, trimmer Halle Berry. Her light caramel-colored skin was perfectly suited to her large, dark brown eyes. She had a narrow nose for one of her ethnicity, but her lips were full and sensuous, although not as thick as some of her racial makeup.

Dr. Fanny Fanner was not a racist in the least, but, if the truth were to be told, she'd chosen Sandy as the subject in the testing of the latest of Spank-o-Matic's line of spanking machines because she wanted this participant to be black instead of white. It wasn't racism as such, however, that led to the scientist's preference for a black, over a white, subject. Instead, Dr. Fanner was motivated in making her selection by her desire to include as much variety as possible among the spanking subjects, purely to satisfy the physicist's own lately discovered lesbian leanings. She was a human being, after all, and not merely a scientist. As long as the subject met the general criteria, there was nothing wrong, the researcher had told herself, in mixing a little dark meat with the light.

Debbie, Dr. Fanner's Amazon-size, Amazon-strong, but ultra-feminine, girlfriend, whom the scientist had met during the test of the company's previous spanking machine design, wouldn't mind if her lover satisfied her appetite for a taste of chocolate. She'd better not, anyway. Although Dr. Fanner had become quite fond of Debbie, the physicist had insisted, from the very start of their relationship, in having her cake (Debbie's pussy) and eating it (other women's cunts), too. Debbie had told Dr. Fanner that she was fine with the scientist's decision.

The little black bitch had little black tits, only they weren't truly black, of course. They were the color of caramel, and the dark nipples that topped them were the color of dark chocolate. They looked tasty, Dr. Fanner thought. She hoped to sample them after the test had been conducted, as she also hoped to have a sip of the liquid goodness between her subject's slender, well-tapered thighs. A tiny waist connected the young woman's upper body with her lower, her ribcage flowing into gently curving hips. The young woman kept her twat shaved, and the dark labia were evident in the small mound of her pubic area. Sandy had long limbs; a strong, but delicate, back; and surprisingly full, firm buttocks, despite her slender build.

The beautiful black woman had 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 blades, they would strike Sandy's buttocks, which hung directly above them.

Like the other test subjects before her, Sandy had signed the necessary legal papers. Dr. Fanner took up her pen and clipboard, and, standing behind the suspended subject, she bent, 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.

Dr. Fanner consulted her watch. A minute had nearly passed, and it was time to change the machine's setting from "Slow" to "Fast." She bent over the fan, made the adjustment, and stood back, camera in hand to document the condition of the young woman's caramel-colored ass as the second phase of the test commenced. There was nothing to show for the first minute of the machine's operation on "Slow," as the photograph of the subject's unspoiled buttocks would clearly indicate.

The blades were turning much faster now, and the spatula-like attachments swatted the black woman's buttocks with more force, coming faster and faster. Sandy cried out, startled at the increased speed and the greater intensity of the spanks that fanned her fanny. She struggled even harder in the harness of cords that kept her suspended above the whirling paddles. The strikes came thick and fast, beating her buttocks with the regular and relentless efficiency possible only to a mindless and merciless machine.

After each swat, Sandy screamed, her cries a counterpoint to the rhythm of the spanking's regular beat. Her shrieks were music to Dr. Fanner's ears, and the physicist felt a seepage of warm moisture between her own legs, jus as she had on every previous occasion that she'd had the pleasure of observing a beautiful young woman getting her ass beaten.

Bap! Whap! Slap! Whack! Crack! The revolving paddles swatted and spanked the mulatto's ass cheeks, and, even through their caramel color, Dr. Fanner began to see the first hint of a pinkish tint. Taking a most unscientific personal interest in the test, the scientist hoped that, soon, Sandy's lovely ass would be made all the lovelier by its being transformed into a tomato-red expanse of tenderized flesh, decorated, perhaps, with a few welts and bruises.

The women usually started to get teary-eyed by the middle of the second phase of the test, and Sandy proved to be no exception, her dark eyes shimmering behind her tears. The black woman jerked and swung and thrashed about in the cords from which, contorted by her bonds into a fetal position, she hung above the pitiless blades of the whirling fan and the paddles attached to them. Round the paddles came, round and round, in a continuous, fluid motion, always at the same speed, striking the firm flesh of Sandy's tender bottom so that the pink flush deepened, reddening the caramel-colored flesh of her well-spanked ass. The gasps and cries turned to sobs as the gorgeous biracial woman wept openly and unashamedly.

Dr. Fanner photographed her subject's buttocks again, smiling to see the rosy color that had filled the full cheeks, imparting a merry glow to their light-brown, buttery complexion. Then, the physicist bent for a third time over the machine, setting its speed to "Fast."

The blades of the fan, and the paddles attached to them, spun so quickly now that they blurred, the paddles striking Sandy's red ass with each flashing pass, so that her cheeks were slapped three times each second. With a full minute to operate at this speed, the machine would administer 180 spanks before shutting off. Despite its ludicrous appearance, this machine might deliver far more than Dr. Fanner had anticipated. It might well outperform all the previous contraptions the scientist had tested. Poor Sandy! Would the slender black girl be able to stand such a number of swats upon her defenseless, bare behind?

Sandy's sobs had turned into howls, as, lurching and straining in her cradle of cords, it must seem to her anguished mind that the spanking had had no beginning and would never end. All she knew was the fire in her bottom and the seemingly interminable, unrelenting assault of the paddles upon her inflamed, pain-filled posterior. Tears streamed down the black woman's lovely face, and mucus coated her upper lip, dripping, like her tears, from her cheeks and chin. Like the subjects in the spanking machine tests that had been conducted before this one, Sandy had also been aroused by the pain, and she'd released a large puddle of cunt juice onto the floor beneath her swinging, writhing buttocks. Dr. Fanner's cunt had likewise flooded itself, as it always did when she delighted in the sight of a beautiful young woman's ass being thrashed. She could feel her lubricating fluids flowing down her inner thighs, and orgasm was imminent.

The scientist had never masturbated in the presence of one of her subjects, fearing that she might be observed, but, as she was standing behind Sandy and the poor victim of the paddles' relentless assault was so caught up in the powerful sensations of pain and misery that afflicted her, Dr. Fanner decided, on impulse, to chance doing so, through her slacks, rather than naked, of course, and, as she watched the spinning blades spank her unwilling subject's ass, the physicist twiddled her clitoris through the fabric of her slacks, at once experiencing a jolting orgasm that flooded her cunt anew as it brought the scientist nearly to her knees. Recovering, she continued to fiddle with her clit, and another orgasm exploded inside her pussy, followed by a third, and a fourth.

So caught up in the throes of pleasure had the scientist been that Dr. Fanner was surprised to see that, with twenty seconds--or another sixty spanks--left before it was to cease its operation, the machine had stopped. On the floor, one of its spatula-like paddles lay, broken off from the fan's blade to which it had been attached, and a second paddle, also snapped off, had caught between its blade and the body of the machine, thereby bringing the contraption to a stop. The motor continued to try to drive the rotor that spun the blades, but, jammed, the machine refused to work, and a tendril of smoke, rising from the device, quickly became a thick column. Dr. Fanner, despite the weakness that had ensued her multiple orgasms, crept forward, shutting off the machine before it could catch fire. Retaining enough presence of mind to photograph Sandy's well-spanked, red-and-purple ass, and careful to include in the shot, the welts and bruises that the constant spanking had raised from her flesh, the scientist set aside her camera, noted the lamentable facts that the machine's paddle attachments were neither durable nor dependable, and set her subject free.

Like the others before her, Sandy was unable to walk unassisted, and Dr. Fanner helped her to the couch in the anteroom through which they'd earlier entered the spanking chamber. Gingerly, Sandy lowered her fire-filled ass onto the couch's deep, soft cushions, grimacing as her weight sank her buttocks into the upholstered pads. The poor thing could sit there as long as she needed to do so, Dr. Fanner thought, which might be a long, long time, indeed.

This time, though, the scientist decided against offering to ease her victim's pain. She'd gotten away with her lesbian indulgences twice now, once with the redheaded subject and once with the brunette subject. The latter had become her girlfriend. Although Sandy was lovely and Dr. Fanner hankered for a taste of her dark meat, she was no longer willing to risk her job for the chance to eat pussy, not when she had, in her girlfriend Debbie, all the cunt she could want. Besides, watching the beautiful black woman get spanked had enabled the physicist to experience not one, not two, and not even three, but four powerful orgasms. Dr. Fanner felt quite drained, both of cunt juice and of passion.

Instead, she returned to the spanking chamber, took a seat at the desk she'd had installed, and started to write out her recommendations for changes in the designs of the spanking machines she'd tested. Then, a stroke of genius befell her, and she wrote, "Combine the best features of all four while eliminating the flaws of each!"

Yes! That was the solution. Keep the revolving paddles, but add the spanking levers, too. Keep the three speeds, but give customers the option of using either a spanking bench or the cradle of cords. By all means, retain the restraints, lest the victim want to end a session prematurely. Combine the strengths of each design. Eliminate the weaknesses.

The result would be a spanking machine that Dr. Fanner herself, most definitely, would buy.

Moreover, helping to test such a machine as its bugs and flaws were detected and corrected and the design was streamlined and improved would keep her gainfully employed for many months to come, enjoying the spankings of many another lovely young woman, all with her own girlfriend's knowledge and consent.

Her fingers trembled with excitement as, using her touch-tone 'phone, she tapped in the number to the president's private line. When he answered, she said, "Sir, this is Dr. Fanner, and do I have an idea for you!"



Quality Control Ch. 05



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?"

Debbie nodded.

"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.