Consequences of Misbehavior P2 - The Punishment Continues

by Nathan

AUTHORS NOTE: This story is written in seven chapters, and is total fiction. The chapters are being posted separately, and while each chapter depicts a corporal punishment scene, they are probably best enjoyed if read sequentially. Author feedback that is positive or negative is encouraged and very much appreciated. None of the characters are real, and the names are all made up and any semblance to real people or actual places is not intentional. It revolves around a single main character who is a typical senior in high school, shooting his way through puberty and growing up fast. The boy is 17 at the story beginning, but soon turns 18 and finds himself in trouble. Like a lot of teenagers in real life, he makes a few mistakes, and in doing so he learns a few hard lessons about the consequences of misbehavior. I hope you truly enjoy his adventures. – Nathan

CHAPTER II – THE PUNISHEMNT CONTINUES

It all just didn’t seem fair, but there was nothing I could do about any of it now. After they locked that padlock on my Probation Control Device, my cock and balls were locked up tight and I stared at that metal cage in shock and disbelief. But right then, I didn’t have time to contemplate it. My thrashed ass was starting to wake up, the numbness wearing off rapidly. I was half-walked and half-dragged across the stage then, and taken back down the same halls that I had come out of. I was given a quick cursory physical by the same young doctor who had approved me for my punishment, and he seemed pleased with my thrashed bottom. He gave my caged cock and balls a firm grab, pulling outward, and he laughed. Then he looked at me and said: I’ve got a younger brother about your age, and I bet he’d die if he couldn’t touch his dick. Hope you learned something today. Misbehavior has consequences.

After he was done, the bag of clothes and personal items was returned to me, and I was allowed to get dressed. I shouldn’t have worn jeans—it hurt like hell pulling them up over my very sore bottom, and the PCD thing in my pants seemed to jut out the front of my jeans in an almost obscene manner. But I didn’t have anything else to wear, so I managed to get them on. Once I was dressed, I was escorted to the entrance door, and there I had to wait about twenty minutes before my dad picked me up. He was late because when mom had feinted he had taken her home, and so he had to return to the CPI center to get me.

After I got home I got out of those jeans and just climbed into my bed. I guess I was in shock. My scrotum was in a cage, and my dick was locked inside a metal tube, and it was all a living nightmare. During the afternoon my ass swelled somewhat, and turned black and blue, and I was more than miserable. Hell, I couldn’t even sit down! I spent the rest of that Saturday and most of Sunday laying on my stomach, and my dad put antiseptic cream on my ass and used bags of ice to keep the swelling down.

I had a number of phone calls, and at first I didn’t want to talk to anyone. But then a few of my football teammates dropped by my house, and they wanted to make sure I was alright. It was actually good to see that I still had friends, and they were sympathetic to my sore bottom and what had been done to me. They were curious about the metal cock cage, and I showed it to them, and we talked and sort of laughed about that kind of a predicament. Some of the team of course thought it was all hilarious, but those guys weren’t the ones that came by to see if I was okay. My real friends cared, and felt sorry for me, and while that didn’t stop the burning sensation I was feeling across my sore bottom it nevertheless helped to know they cared. Yeah, that helped a lot.

By Sunday evening I was getting around, and I had figured out how to urinate sitting down without spraying the bathroom. It took a little practice. The hole in the bottom of the metal tube that was now my cock’s home was pointed downward, so the idea of walking up to a urinal at school wasn’t going to work any more. There was no way to point my dick anywhere. Luckily for the time being my sore ass pretty much kept my mind off my dick, and all I was really thinking about was the birching that I still had coming. I considered running away; but I knew they would catch me, and when they did I’d get even more. Of course, I didn’t want to go to school, but that too wasn’t an option, and so bright and early on Monday morning I had to head out to face my classmates. I knew I’d be laughed at by some, and that turned out to be the case. High school kids can be very mean, and certainly being the spanked senior was humiliating. Everyone it seemed had watched me get spanked, and they all saw me ejaculate too! And of course in gym class every guy wanted to see the cage, and most of the guys thought it was hillarous. But not everyone. I found out I had some true friends, who stood up for me, and felt I had a raw deal and they didn’t think my punishment was fair. In fact, it became a topic of debate between my football teammates. But of course it didn’t matter all that much what anyone thought, because I was going to get birched and there was nothing I or my best friends could do about it.

The week seemed to drag forever, but still it was not long enough. My ass was plenty sore, and the paddle and the strap had certainly taught me that a public thrashing was something to be avoided at all costs. But of course, I still had the birching coming, and Saturday arrived way before I was ready for it. The truth was that my ass was still bruised from the strap and paddle, and I had no idea how I was ever going to go back and live through a birching. Of course I got on the internet and read everything I could find on the subject of birching, and what I read wasn’t comforting. Years ago prisoners were birched, and so were juvenile delinquents. At some institutions, even schoolboys could get birched when they misbehaved. It was an ancient punishment, and apparently, it was very effective.

I found one article about the Isle of Man, where in the 1950’s the punishment was used on boy’s under the age of fifteen, and the usual sentence was 3 or 4 strokes with a large sprayed out bundle of birch branches. But by the 1960’s the punishment changed, and became the standard punishment for young men ages 14 through 21 and was the punishment of choice for offenses that involved any kind of violence. But what made it even more scary was that the classic spray birch designed as a boy’s punishment was replaced with a newer and more painful birch bundle around that time, which was made up of four or five long and fairly stout hazel branches that were bound tight together at one end. It was by all accounts a much more feared and powerful weapon. Some papers described it as being similar to a bundle of school canes all being applied simultaneously, and it was these bundles that were always used on the older boys.

Now, it was my turn! And I was scared shitless!

Just as he had done the week before, my dad dropped me off at the center at 8am, and once again I was showered, my cuffed hands and arms stretched above my head while I was scrubbed vigorously with stiff brushes and lots of strong soap, followed by the nozzle enema until I was clean inside and out. I had shaved my own pubic area, which had only just begun to grow some hair again, because I sure didn’t want them to use those wax sheets on me. Luckily, my balls were still smooth, but were starting to itch, so I knew the hair there would be coming back in soon. But for now, they were smooth enough and for that I was thankful. Once I was showered, I was dressed in the same type of bright yellow and very thin underpants.

They escorted me down the same hall I had been through the previous week, and into a small room where a new officer was sitting at a desk. The same young looking blond haired doctor that had examined me the previous week was there, and he came up to me and listened to my heart, and then he grinned and said: No limits—he’s good for the full ten, and up to ten more if you need it. Then, he reached down and grabbed the metallic PCD, or Probation Control Device, like he had before, and gave it a firm tug, pulling outward, hard, which jerked outward on my balls. It was obvious the thing was firmly attached, and I grunted when I felt it pulling on my caged nuts. He laughed, and then he dropped my junk and walked out of the room grinning.

The man behind the desk said: OK...just like last week, you need to listen to what I’m going to tell you. Try and remember you deserve this. That makes it easier when you are feeling your ass on fire. Today you are going to be birched ten times, and each hit with the bundle of twigs is going to feel like your ass is being torn to shreds. And the feeling is pretty accurate to what is happening. But if it’s any consolation, the little cuts the ends of the twigs make don’t go deep, and your bottom will heal pretty quickly. Still, you aren’t gonna like it much. Now, I suggest you do exactly as you’re instructed, and if you make this difficult I am authorized to order up to ten additional strokes. So, don’t test me. When I tell you to bend over the birching bench, you do so and be quick about it. Do you understand me?

I said Yes sir! with my heart pounding, and he liked that and he even laughed. Then he said: There won’t be a hole for your cock this week—your junk is nice and safe within the metal PCD, so the punishment officer can birch you right down into your crack. Your scrotum and cock are well protected, so they can really get down there and thrash you thoroughly. Be glad you’re locked up nice and tight!

What the fuck?

He asked me if I had any questions, and I took the opportunity and asked: Ah...what’s the birch like? I mean, what’s it look like?

He grinned, and said: It looks like what it is. Your bottom’s not going to care what it looks like. Trust me, it’s a damn serious bundle of twigs, and it will tear your ass up. But then, misbehavior has consequences, and you deserve every single stroke your getting.

Right then a loud buzzer sounded, and I jumped. It was time! And sure enough, the door came open and two officials entered the room and without any other words spoken they took me by the arms. Just as before, they escorted me to a holding cell, with my hands still cuffed together in front of me. One of the men said: It’s going to be a little while. There are two boys from Greenwood High getting birched before you, so be patient. They were caught breaking into homes, and their bottoms are paying for it. Once they’re done, then it will be your turn!

And so I waited there. Way down the hall I could hear the sounds of a crowd, but they were very muffled. Occasional the volume of the crowd grew in intensity, and then I cold make out clearly the sound of applause. A few minutes after that a door opened, and two men were dragging a teenage boy down the hall in front of me. He might have been sixteen or seventeen. He had blond hair, and I noticed that his crotch had also been made smooth. His head was hanging down, and his entire body was covered in sweat. He was still crying from his punishment, the tears running down his face, and as they dragged him by my cell I got a good look at his naked bottom. FUCK! It looked like hamburger! The entire thing had little bits of blood and tiny chunks of flesh missing! His junk wasn’t locked up, and I had a full view of his manhood as he went by. His teenage cock was just a knob, sitting above his hanging man-sized scrotum. His crotch had been waxed smooth, and his bald mound and little knob of a dick made him look younger than he was. Clearly, he had paid a heavy price for his misbehavior!

They dragged him around the corner, out of my sight, and I heard a door open and close and he was gone. Soon, the crowd was going again, and you could hear the noise, and occasional some applause. I figured the other kid was getting it now, and of course, once he was done, it would be my turn next.

It took about twenty minutes before the door at the other end opened again, and two more men appeared dragging another teenager down the hall in front of my cell. He was younger. I guessed his age at fifteen, but it might have been less. He had dark black hair, and a wisp of a mustache trying to sprout across his upper lip, but it was his trashed bottom that caught my attention. Just like his cohort, it was spotted with blood and looked black and blue and the mounds seemed to be swelling. FUCK THEY HAD BEAT HIM GOOD! Unlike his accomplice, his teenage dick and balls were all locked up in a metallic cage just like mine, but I could see his small scrotum within the cage and he struck me more as a boy than he did as a man. His eyes were flooded with tears, and snot was dripping out of his nose.

After he disappeared down the hall, two guards came for me. IT WAS MY TURN!

Suddenly doors were being buzzed open for me, and they up and grabbed me and soon I was making the dreaded trip to the auditorium for my appointment with the birch! My feet were still chained together, so they dragged me by my arms, and it felt like I was being rushed right down the halls. Doors opened one after the other, and then three was a final door and as they half-dragged me through it and once again I was in the auditorium! It seemed every single seat was taken up, and some in the crowd started to applaud as soon as I arrived onto the stage.

There was a bright spotlight on the wooden spanking bench, and except for it there was nothing else on the stage. This time there was no plastic insert, and no artificial pussy waiting for me to insert my dick. But as I approached the bench what caught my immediate attention were the five lines of semen that had been squirted across the black floor in front of the bench. Without any question, the older teenager with the very thrashed ass I had just seen had emptied his balls in front of the crowd! The load of jism was thick and copious, and it surprised me that it had not been cleaned up. Clearly, they were in the punishment mode, not the clean mode. Well, my cock was inside a metal prison this time, just like the younger boy’s had been, and I knew I wouldn’t be getting any erections or shooting any wads, even though I hadn’t ejaculated in a week.

I looked around, scanning the faces, and the Lincoln family was in the same spot as before, right in the front row, and only about ten feet from the birching bench. I couldn’t find my parents. I figured dad was here somewhere, but my mom said she wasn’t going, and apparently she hadn’t. I was glad.

Everyone was staring at me now. I was walked up so that I was behind the birching bench, facing it, and facing the crowd at the same time. It was the same bench as before but without the plastic vagina looking thing. As I was staring at it, the man to my left said: Bend over the birching bench and stay still. You will be strapped in tight, and then the bundle of birch rods will start tearing up your bottom. Try and remember that you deserve every single stroke!

The two CP officials went right to work, securing my arms and legs and tightening every buckle on the bench to lock me down tight. Then they took the chain that ran between my ankles and separated it again, and then they used the two pieces to jerk my legs wide apart, so wide that my ass was just spread open and my hole was open and exposed. By the time they were done, I could barely wiggle my ass, and my legs were spread so wide I just knew everything was now reachable for the birching. NO!

They did not lock my head down this time, nor did they strap my arms to the sides. Instead, they stretched them up, over my head, so they were out in front of me and that’s where they secured them to a clip. With arms stretched out like that I couldn’t touch anything, and in some ways I felt even more vulnerable.

They were ready, and I guess, so was I, like it or not. The crowd seemed excited, and a few minutes later there was thunderous applause, as my punishment officer appeared on stage. My football teammates were there, off ot the side, and they weren’t applauding and seemed to be there for me. I looked at Robbie Hanson, one of my best friends, and he smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up sign.

The offical that was going to thrash me was carrying two buckets, and there were several bundles of birch branches soaking in them. As soon as I saw them my heart was pounding. They were the improved birch bundles, the ones I had read about, and I knew from my research they would pulverize my bare bottom. Yeah, the twigs looked stout and were long, and one end of them were all bound tightly together, with a leather string of some kind wrapping around the base of them to make a kind of handle. The other end was flayed outward, somewhat like a broom, but there were only about 5 sticks bundled together so the broom was anything but solid. The sticks looked to me to be about as thick as my little finger, and right away with a single look I knew this was going to hurt like hell.

The man who was going to punish me picked up one of the bundles, and shook it back and forth and it made an ugly, swishhhhhhh sound. Then, he walked up behind me, and he rested the branches across my bare ass, slowly rubbing the bundle from side to side. I waited, my ass tense. How do you prepare to be struck with something like that? My heart was pounding, and my mouth was cotton.

Thomas Lincoln’s dad yelled out, loud enough for everyone to hear: BIRCH HIM! BURN HIS ASS—SHOW NO MERCY! HE ALMOST KILLED MY SON—HIT HIM HARD AND MAKE HIM PAY! HE REALLY DESERVES IT!

A few guys on my team yelled SHUT UP! at him, and that comment drew a spattering of applause. It was nice to know I had some friends in there, but of courses most of those attending felt I deserved what I was getting and seemed anxious for it to begin. And it was pretty clear the waiting was about to end.

My bare bottom was brightly lit by the spotlight and of course everyone could see the metallic probation control device that had my genitals all locked up. Then, just as had been the case the week before, the loudspeaker came to life and somebody was explaining the benefits of the Corporal Punishment Initiative. It was the exact same recording as they had used the previous Saturday, and it seemed to drone on and on, talking about how it was helping to keep our youth out of prison and helping them to learn to control their behavior. Then, it turned to me, and it restated my assault charges, and then after that my sentence was read out next, and then the speaker said: THE MISBEHAVING YOUTH, MIKA GENTRY, WILL NOW RECEIVE TEN STROKES FROM A BUNDLE OF BIRCH RODS, APPLIED AT FULL FORCE TO HIS BARE BOTTOM.

Then, without any warning, I felt the birch rods being lifted from my ass, followed by this very loud swishhhhhhhhhhh sound and this there was this SPLACHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT.

YEOW! I cried out, and I bucked my hips and jerked with every muscle in my body. Damn! OH DAMN! With the SPLACHTTTTT sound a searing burn seemed to explode across both already well-spanked cheeks of my bottom still recovering from the previous week, and it was not unlike a hundred thousand hornets all stinging me at once. FUCK IT HURT!

I WAS BEING BIRCHED! NO! NOOO! THIS WAS A VERY SERIOUS PUNISHMENT, TO A TOALLY DIFFERENT LEVEL THAN MY SPANKING OR STRAPPING HAD BEEN.

SPLACHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

ARGHHHH I wailed!

SPLACHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

SPLACHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

I started to babble. I jerked and cried and begged. And with the tremendous burn consuming my entire naked bottom my eyes just flew wide open with surprise, and I grunted with every single hit. And each time my naked bottom took another hit there were some in the audience that giggled. It was just like a nest of hornets was released onto my bottom, and after that it was just a long series of SNAPPPPP SNAPPPPP SNAPPPPs followed by a terrible SPLACHTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT sound after each hit; the blows stinging every inch of my bottom. I could FEEL them tearing the skin off my ass! The birch rods were flexible and they cut at me from angles the strap and paddle never had, and with my legs tied wide apart on several occasions they literally went right down into my crack. The twigs even slammed into the metal cage covering my scrotum and the tube protecting my dick. While my cock and balls were safe, the area under my scrotum was unprotected, and my hole and my crack and my inner thighs were shown no mercy. Yeah, with my legs spread wide apart there was no way to protect anything. Once more I was helpless to do anything but just live through the experience of my corporal punishment.

The birching seemed to go on forever, and I heard applause and with the exception of a few of my friends most of the crowd seemed thrilled as the birch rods did their work. I think those in the crowd felt good at seeing me paying for my misbehavior, and I was certainly making an example for every boy in that room. I don’t think any of those that watched it happen will ever forget the way those birch rods tore up my ass.

Finally, it was done. Like the two teenagers I had seen being dragged down the hall, I was lifted off the bench by two men and dragged from the stage to what seemed to me to be a thunderous applause of the crowd. There was no fight left in me. My head hung down in shame, and my ass was raw and bleeding from the little bites the twigs had caused. I knew it would take many days before my ass would be back to normal. I had been birched!

I was taken to the room where my clothes were handed to me. This time I had been smarter and not worn jeans, and my sweats went on over my sore ass without too much of a problem. As soon as I was dressed they turned me over to my dad, and I was placed in his custody. As I was in no shape to do much, they also handed him a bright red folder, marked POST PUNISHMENT INFORMATION. As they did the CPI official said this to me.

OK...you’ve completed your formally prescribed judicial punishment. Last week you were fitted with a Probation Control Device, and your penis and testicles are locked up and out of your reach. You will find that probation isn’t a lot of fun, and you need to behave yourself or you’ll be back over the punishment bench again. Your Post Punishment Information folder contains everything you need to know. Just understand that the purpose of your probation is to continue to teach you to behave yourself, and to serve as a warning to other males your age that misbehavior has consequences. Do you have any questions right now?

I was way too beaten to ask anything. I shook my head no, but just as I started for the exit door, I saw Thomas Lincoln, and he and his parents were sitting in one of the alcoves just down a side hall. On the table in front of him there was another bright red folder, the same color as the folder in my father’s hands, only his was spread out on the table and one of the CPI officials was explaining something to him.

I found my voice: Hey, what the HELL is HE doing here?

The CPI official that had been talking with me glanced down the hall, and then he said: He’s your Primary Victim, and the PV has administrative control over your probation period. Right now he’s being instructed on what his role is, and how best to execute it so that you can continue to learn from your mistakes. There are things your PV can do, and there are some things he cannot do. You do not need to be concerned with his instructions. You have your own packet, and it contains everything you need to know. I suggest you study it well when you get home.

Remember, once each month you must report to the Corporal Administration Center, to have your PCD checked. Your next mandatory appointment is a week from today, and the doc will take a good look at your ass and make sure it’s healing well. But after that you only have to come in once each month.

Then, the exit door was buzzed open, and my dad and I walked into the sunshine. I was in a state of shock, and my ass was on fire. But it wasn’t my ass that was on my mind. No, on the ride home, my mind was on my dick, and the metal cage that was covering it.