The Misadventures of Samantha and Malcolm/Chapter 10 Learning the Hard Way

The thunder storm had condemned the students of Redd Ensore Bottoms Elementary to an indoor recess. The assembled students had been gathered in the cafeteria and supplied with board games and puzzles. Malcolm had just finished the boarder on a jigsaw puzzle when Jaydee had interrupted with a proposal in writing. He sighed as he went over the written list of parameters that Jaydee had handed him. “It will be difficult,” he said. “I can almost guarantee that I won’t be able to make this without permission from my parents.” “Can’t you just mix up some cleaner or something under your bed?” asked Jaydee. “Every such chemical in my house and yours is behind a code locked door,” Malcolm reminded Jaydee. “Maybe my Mom would say yes, but defiantly not Dad…” he trailed off as he realized that two tables over that Amber was shouting at Natalie. He abandoned his puzzle and approached from Amber’s side of the table. “Shut up! Just Shut Up! You weren’t there! It Wasn’t Like That So Just Shut Up!” insisted Amber. Natalie held her hands up in surrender. “Listen I was just…” started Natalie. “Hey what’s all this?” demanded Malcolm. “You stay out!” demanded Amber, pointing at him. Malcolm felt his emotions rising. “Malcolm, just-” Natalie started to say. “I do not accept imperatives from belligerent people,” said Malcolm (imitating a character from Age of Legends). “You…just…ENOUGH!-WEREN’T There so just stop talking about the plague so just stop talking about the PLAUGE!” “Thank god I wasn’t there,” said Malcolm. “I’d hate to be a traumatized wreck of a…” Malcolm realized how horrible his words were and trailed off. Amber stared at him tears welling up in her eyes and Malcolm quickly guessed that AMBER was a plague victim. “Amber…” stammered Malcolm as his brain shifted from offensive to apologetic. “I…can’t…” Amber ran in the opposing direction. “Wait I’m sorr-!” Malcolm would have chased her to apologize, but the iron grip of Ms. Fesse arrested his arm. What was I thinking? Thought Malcolm as he sat on the bench outside Principal Perskova’s office. Amber was already inside, and Malcolm did not hear the sound of punishment emanating from her purposefully thin door. ''Just shut up, all I had to do was shut up! Why is it I never consider that an option? All you had to do was WALK AWAY! And what do you do? You only offended EVER PLAUGE SURVIVOR EVERYWHERE AND THEY HAVE YOU ON RECORD! AND NOW THE ONLY THING YOU CAN COUNT ON IS A CORPREAL CORRECTION FROM AN UNFROKED MARINE OF A PRINCIPAL! What was I thinking?'' But Malcolm knew what he was thinking, he had been thinking for a long time. It was that nasty little thought in the back of his mind. That little bit of spite he had nourished every time a quarantine law had blocked his ambitions. A resentment he thought he had buried. The door opened and Amber walked past him. “I’m sorry,” he said and she ran out the door. Perskova exited her office and loomed over Malcolm. “Malcolm Martin,” she took him by the wrist, “we need to have a very long discussion.” She took him into her office sat down in the straight backed chair. She arranged Malcolm at attention before her. “Now Malcolm,” she instructed, “tell me exactly what happened in the cafeteria.” The confession had two purposes, the first was to see if the offender would lie. With the nano webs making their actions more childish, some children would foolishly try to minimize their involvement (“I didn’t hit him, I just touched him”). Perskova always reviewed the surveillance logs before seeing students. The second was to force a child to admit their fault. Malcolm did not need a reminder that he had verbally stabbed Amber in the heart. He described the events as they happened (as best he could honestly remember) and as he reached the moment where he said…that…he began choking out his words through tears unable to keep composed under the weight of his guilt, the fear of what Perskova was about to do to him, and the knowledge that his deserved it. He finished his confession, the Principal leaned forward and grabbed his wrists, pinning his arms to his side. “So Malcolm,” she said. “Do you think that Amber is a traumatized wreck, or do you think that ALL plague survivors are traumatized wrecks?” “I…But…” Malcolm could think of no answer. “ANSWER ME BOY!” She commanded. “WHICH IS IT!” Malcolm just cried. “Well, Malcolm, I think you need some sensitivity.” She undid his trousers. “Yes I think after some sensitivity training you will be much more receptive to the emotions of others. She slid his underwear down to his ankles and forced the crying boy over her knee. She reached over to the desk and picked up a wicked little round paddle with a single hole drilled in the center. She tapped Malcolm bare bottom several times to get a feel for range, then began mercilessly punishing the boy. She wasted no words as Malcolm shrieked and struggled under the fire of the paddle. She paused only to arrest his right arm and hold it against his back when he reflexively covered himself. Malcolm’s body jerked with each stroke as his tears flowed freely. As far as he was concerned, he would never sit down again. Then, the rhythm was broken. Perskova had finished paddling him (It had been twenty four strokes, but Malcolm had lost count). “Are you feeling more sensitive, Malcolm?” asked Perskova. Malcolm was barely able to wheeze out a ‘yes ma’am’ through his sobs as he lay over her knees, a broken boy. “Well then I think you’re ready for your REAL lesson.” Maloclm’s sobs doubled as he felt a cane tap his burning bottom. “Malcolm.” WHACK! “WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” “You have NO IDEA!” WHACK! “The magnitude of!” WHACK! “Of what happened!” WHACK! “In the PLAUGE!” WHACK! Malcolm’s bottom was a hot crimson, his eyes were red from crying, anyone in the Hall would have heard his sobs. “And until you do, you haven’t even the right to SPEAK of the plague!” She finished him off with one great big WHACK! Perskova let go of Malcolm’s arm. It fell limp to his side. Malcolm’s back rose and fell as he breathed in great heaves. “Stand up Malcolm,” she ordered. The boy slowly eased himself off her lap, landing on wobbly legs. His bottom throbbed as if he had a second heartbeat. He reached out and steadied himself on her desk. “Now, normally, I would recommend a week’s worth of recess detentions, but today is Tuesday and next Monday is a holiday…tell you what, I’m assigning you a ten page paper on the Galaxic Plague and you’ll spend your next three recesses with me and we’ll book you a Saturday detention with the kindergarten teacher when you will submit your paper and call it even.” She opened the door. “Ms. White, I’ll need a pair of bee-riefs and a pair of punishment pants.” The children laughed as Malcolm passed by the cafeteria tables with his bee-riefs on full display. Malcolm felt a pang of guilt for all the times he had done the same. He found that the table on the far most corner was empty and took up a position there, his back (and backside) toward the wall. He didn’t feel like company as he unwrapped his ham and swiss sandwich. Soon enough however, his class mates sought him out. Anthony, Steven, and Alex surrounded him. “Hey, Malcolm,” said Steven. “What’s the damage?” Pennies were more or less obligated to display their bottoms post punishment to any parent, teacher and usually to any classmate that asked. Malcolm was reluctant, but he thought of all the times his classmates had bared for each other and a sense of obligation came over him. Dejected. He stood up and eased his bee-riefs just below his cheeks. “Oh, Man,” said Anthony. “Yeah, she didn’t even try to separate the cane strokes,” commented Steven. “You’re a member of the club now Malcolm,” Anthony patted him on the shoulder. “Yep, full fledged,” said Alex. Weird, thought Malcolm as he restored his *OW*bee-riefs, taking six from Perskova gets me more praise from my class than getting an A on a test. Malcolm quietly sobbed as he sat on his corner stool, in his bee-riefs. Upon his return home, his mother had taken a quick review of his red file and renewed the fire on his bottom with his very own paddle, then left him on his cornerstool the think about what he had done. Samantha meanwhile had decided to practice her harmonica very loud right next to his chair. She was playing a song very loud that Malcolm did not recognize (it was The Who’s I’m a Boy). “Second verse same as the first,” said Samantha as she repeated the song. The Martin parents were divided down the middle on the subject of the harmonica Jaydee had given Samantha for Christmas. Alison found it intrusive and annoying. Jet on the other hand like the sound and pontificated on the virtues of music. Also it was a present and they were not so heartless as to take away a present. In the end Samantha was allowed to practice for one hour a day and only on which ever floor of the house her mother was not. “Oh!” said Samantha. “I can’t remember, did anyone explain to you what happens in Saturday detention?” “What…What’s different?” asked Malcolm. “Oh! I get to tell you!” she stood up. “Saturday detention is when older pennies get a taste of the younger penny life. See, age six to age twelve is the standard span of years for a penny, but if the crime was severe enough they get even younger and sometimes shorter sentences with more cycles. The result is that anyone pennyfied to younger than six is guaranteed to get it worse. You sir, are about to find out just how much worse it is in kindergarten!” “So how many times did you get sent there?” Malcolm retorted. “Malcolm, Samantha,” called down Alison. Samantha stowed her harmonica and retreated to the couch. Alison came down the stairs with a data card in her right hand. “I have something here that I want the both of you to watch.” She set the card on the coffee table and the interface started downloading the enclosed holo. Alison undid Malcolm’s strap and pulled the sniffling boy up into her arms. She lay him on the sofa and pulled off his punishment pants and bee-riefs, replacing them with standard clothes. “I don’t want you focusing on anything but this program,” she said as she sat down on the sofa. She placed Malcolm into her lap and held him there. “Play ‘Plague Series 1’” commanded Alison. The holo film appeared on the two dimensional screen affixed to the wall. It was a documentary on the Galaxic Plague. At first it wasn’t anything Malcolm hadn’t learned in school. But as the program went on it elaborated on aspects he hand’t heard before. He found himself growing more and more fascinated. The introduction was a montage of suffering victims on carts in isolation bags and houses burning (immersing Malcolm in the weight of the matter) then the program turned to the informative timeline. Paradiso was once the principal resupply and refueling port for all the surrounding colonies. Ships came and went every day. As more and more colonies fell to the Galaxian Plague, the Paradiso government struggled to from a plan for survival. The first plan was the original populace ships that had carried the original population to the planet in individual cryo-stasis pods. Upon arrival they had been designed to disassemble and reconfigure into essential parts of the infrastructure (water filtration plants, power generators, etc.). The “Cryo-Plan” was to reassemble the ships and place as many citizens as possible into the cryo containers to wait out the disease while government agents in sealed suits and sealed environments monitored the pods and kept the infrastructure of the colony from deteriorating too much. The obvious downsides to this plan were that the ships were not large enough to hold even a fraction of the current population and the estimated wait time for the plague to die without subjects to infect was six to ten years. A tight beam transition from Pizgarlan Pharmaceuticals claimed that they had developed a vaccine, but since Paradiso was founded independent of the Earth Federation, the planet would have to pay for the medicine through mineral resources. The government agreed to the terms and the “Cryo-plan was relegated to plan B. Then came the dramatic part of the documentary. The vaccine proved to be a fake. When a comparison of infection rates was analyzed, the epicenter of the disease was the same spaceport the vaccine had been unloaded (the popular theory came to be that Pizgarlan was responsible for the infection). A living nightmare began. Half the population was wiped out with the day and barely any children survived their first six hours of infection. The Cryo-plan was put into effect, but by that time, the only cure they had for the plague was the still experimental rejuve technology. Malcolm watched as the corpses of children were torn from the arms of their infected mothers, he looked away as houses and piles of corpses were burnt by red suited men. Alison paused the image as, inside an isolation tent, a man in a red hazmat suit took off his helmet, revealing a scruffy looking brown haired man with the three day growth of a beard. “That man was my husband,” she said. Malcolm and Samantha looked at her with a wild surmise. “Your man was…a…” Samantha asked and she she stopped before she said ‘torcher.’ “Employee for the center for disease and infection control,” finished Alison. “His name was Warren.” She resumed the playback. After an emergency rejuve, the few remaining citizens were placed in the cryo cylinders as children, told that they would wake up when it was safe. There was a worry of overcrowding, but in the end there were not even enough localized survivors to fill any of the ships to capacity. The few remaining government overseers were left with the responsibility of maintaining the infrastructure with skeletons crews (or considerably less). Alison paused the show again. “That was when my husband committed suicide,” her children looked upon her in sadness and sympathy. “He left a note, he said that after all he had done, he could not go on with life on this planet. He was my rock, my foundation...” she choked back a sob and resumed the program. There was a curious new development. Of the thirty seven million individuals on planet thirty were immune. The few remaining scientists scrabbled to isolate the genetic vectors that made them immune. The only thing they had in common was that they had all spent protracted terms of time in the wilderness. As near as they could tell it was some rare, ignorable infection native to Paradiso that gave their immune systems the instructions to fight the plague. A vaccine was soon synthesized, but it was a slow process. The frozen population was released in waves, with more and more of the people released as more and more of the vaccine became available, with the children of the first wave helping the children of the second wave adjust and so on and so forth. It took some time, and there were many problems with the fact that there so few men in a population that consisted almost entirely of underage girls who felt and acted older (this was before the nano-web had been developed) but in the end life went on… “But she didn’t have to punish him that hard,” said Natalie at recess the next day. “He was sorry!” “A penny can be as sorry as he wants to be,” explained Stephen as he hung upside down from the monkey bars. “But that’s not going to make his punishment any easier.” “But he got the paddle and the cane!” said Natalie. “When Jaydee got into a fight with Elizabeth, she only got the cane.” “What was it he said again?” Natalie gave him as close a description as she could remember. “Ah,” said Stephen, “sounds like what he said was a little too close to the denialist assertion that all plague survivors are too emotionally disturbed to be credible witnesses.” “What’s a denialist?” asked Natalie. “Oh,” said Stephen, “a denialist is the worst thing you can be an Paradiso. A denialist can’t find any work, can’t get credit, can’t walk down the street without scorn. And frankly, they are not about to get any sympathy from me. You know, some of the hyper-conservative pundits like to respond to any criticism from the left with accusations of “denialist philosophy” regardless of whether or not the person is even CLOSE to a denialist.” “But what IS a denialist?” asked Natalie. “They started really getting attention around the turn of the century,” Jet to Malcolm later in the day, “when an avowed denialist assassinated a conservative representative with a car bomb.” Jet was performing the usual routine maintenance on the van and Malcolm was standing by to hand him tools (he was forbidden from actually helping) “We started calling them the denialists, that’s our word, they’ve got a more benign title for their little group. Their big assertion is that the plague was the work of our local government for some dread conspiracy.” Malcolm thought about that boy back at the testing lab, what was his name again? “The big insult with these folks is that they were mostly kids that were born after the plague. What they do is they latch onto the maybe three accounts of the plague by people who were paranoid delusional before 2328, and they hold that up as their gospel. I mean it would be one thing if they would just ask politely about some of the inconsistency between accounts, which I will admit exist, but just dropping the subject after being shown crystal clear proof that their crazy theory is wrong. But no. when you tell them one thing they start making up nine other things that prove that what you saw wasn’t what you saw. We were THERE, I was there. But according to them, I’m not a qualified witness, and I’ll tell you why, because I’m not validating their paranoia. “Anyway, it used to be that official policy when a penny starts talking crazy denialist theory was to placard them. That’s making them walk around with a sign around their necks declaring their views to their classmates, thus creating another layer of torment. Nowadays, however, the teachers will give them a full course of verified history that shows them that it didn’t happen like that. If they persist in their assertions after that, we send them to psychological counseling sometimes a full psi cycle needs to be added, turns out the paranoid delusional are very well represented in the denialists.” It was Friday, the day before Malcolm’s final detention. As Alison measured out the helpings of rice for that night’s diner, Malcolm approached her holding a piece of paper. “Mom,” he asked. “May I please send this letter of apology to Amber?” “You wrote a letter of apology?” asked Alison as she took the piece of paper from his hand. Why didn’t I think of making him do that? she thought. It read: Dear Amber, I’m sorry. I’ve learned a lot these past two days. Mostly I’ve learned how much I didn’t know. I’ve realized how much I was avoiding learning about 2328, just because I thought it would be unpleasant. It was wrong. I was wrong. There was so much history to this event. My own Mom and Dad have taught me a lot. And to go through what you’ve gone through, if you weren’t affected by it, you’d have to not have a soul. I can only say I’m sorry so many times, but I truly mean it. I was wrong. I’m sorry. Sincerely, Malcolm Alison picked up her boy into a big hug. “Yes Malcolm, you can send this letter,” She carried him into the living room and set the letter face down on the coffee table. Within a minute, they had scanned it in and sent it to the Moleys. “So are you ready for your Saturday detention?” asked Alison. Malcolm cringed. “Well it’s almost over.” She reassured her boy. Malcolm sat in his car seat and watched the identical houses blur into lines of colors. He had heard about Saturday punishments from Samantha but he had half not believed her. It wasn’t the first time she had lied to him for the fun of it. Besides, pennies had all kinds of rumors bounced around: that there was a secret super punishment room in the basement where teachers took the worst kids, that somewhere there was a nurse that drugged the kids and molested them in their sleep, every year, one penny disappeared off the face of the planet and the cops never do anything about it. The deceleration of the car shook him from his thoughts. They were at purple-gray brick school building. Alison parked the car and led Malcolm across the parking lot, his punishment assignment in a green folder tucked under his left arm. Between interviewing his mother and father, researching text files on the subject, and composing the document, the boy had worked non-stop on the paper over the last few days, declining from even asking for any playtime. The central office was the closest room to the entrance. After the office came the central hall that led to the kindergarten, then the first grade classroom, then the second grade and so forth, the idea being that the older you got, the further you should be from punishment from Perskova (at least as far as your behavior was expected to improve). Perskova exited her office as Alsion led Malcolm inside. “Mrs. Martin,” addressed Principal Perskova. “I’ll take him from here, you may collect him at 13:00.” “Of course,” said Alison as she gave Persokva Malcolm’s wrist. “Now you be on your best behavior Malcolm,” she called out as the boy was led to the kindergarten room. Inside, the room was quite different from his first grade classroom, it was more colorful. The walls had multicolor posting boards decorated with cartoon drawings of naked, crying children with red bottoms (though the cartoons were noticeably devoid of genitalia or rectums, with the only signifier of gender being hairstyle) and various students’ artwork. The floor was made up of multi-color latex tiles that felt like there were thin foam cushions underneath (Malcolm guessed that younger kids fell down more often). Instead of desks, there were four large tables (each a different color) with four chairs each. Malcolm noted panels in the tables that he guessed would slide away to reveal interface controls. Lining the left wall were three changing tables. Lining the right wall were five corner stools. Sitting at the teacher’s desk was an Asian woman Malcolm had not seen before, he guessed she must be the kindergarten teacher. Hanging on the wall behind her was her array of punishment implements (all of which were a threatening shade of red): two paddles, two straps, two synthecord switches, and two nursery canes. On the other side of the front of the room was a one sided memory bench (like the one on display at Penny Persuaders) positioned to point the supplicant’s bottom directly at the class. Sitting at one of the tables (which was much too small for her) was an upper class girl (age ten maybe eleven) with her blonde hair in one ponytail, dressed in a single pink smock that was comically small for her, and a cloth diaper with little bunnies on it. She had her elbows on the desk and was resting her chin upon her hands. “I’ll take your paper now, Malcolm,” said Perskova. “Oh, here but-” she snatched the folder out of his hands, “well it’s not quite done yet. If I had a little more time I could-” “We will discuss the deficiencies of your paper after your lunch and before your second scheduled spanking.” Persokva was out the door. “Hello, Malcolm,” said the teacher. Malcolm whirled around, he hadn’t even noticed her approached him. Now he saw the twelve inch paddle that dangled from her belt. She took him by the hand, led him over to one of the changing tables, and lifted him up. Once he was sat down she said: “I’m Ms. Tataki. I will be in charge of you for the morning. If you’re very very good, you won’t have more than two spankings today.” Her voice was full of a ‘Romper Room’ grade of condescension than most penny parents would use on a much younger child. “But if you’re naughty and don’t do as your told I’ll give you a bare bottom spanking on the spot and I may ask to see you again next week. Do you understand?” “Yes Ma’am,” said Malcolm. “Very good, now let’s get you dressed into your kindergarten uniform.” She removed his shoes and socks and placed them in a small plastic bin. Then she reached under and pulled off his shirt, depositing it in the bin too. Undoing the button and zipper on his pants, she leaned him back and pulled them off, then she lifted his legs diaper style and relieved him of his underwear. As Malcolm lay there, exposed to all under the gaze of a strange woman, he had a flashback to the R&D lab. “You know I don’t see many boys here,” commented Ms. Tataki as she powdered him. “Most of my children are y-reps.” Ms. Tataki quickly powdered him, diapered him in a blue cloth diaper with stars, and tied a smock (similar to the blonde girl’s but it was blue) around his upper body. She placed a while hat on his head and lifted him up and set him down on the latex tiles. Malcolm was kind of glad there wasn’t a mirror around because he kind of didn’t want to see how ridiculous he looked right now. “Here you go” Malcolm, she handed him his bin of clothes. “You can put that in one of the cubbies over there.” As Malcolm did as instructed, the door opened and Persokva escorted in…wait, that’s Elizabeth, that girl that Samantha knew. He took his seat and watched Elizabeth go through the same routine he had just went through, he took a seat at the table closest to the teacher and sort of lost himself in his thoughts until he heard Ms. Tataki yelp. He looked to his right and saw Elizabeth, lying on the changing table naked but for a loose diaper between her thighs with her arms pulled close to her chest and her knees drawn up. Ms. Tataki had taken one step back and had one hand holding her abdomen. “Oh you naughty little girl!” declared Ms. Tataki. “You think you can kick your teachers?” “I’m sorry!” Elizabeth tried to apologize. “It was a reflex!” “Oh I’ll teach you what happens to naughty pennies who kick their teachers,” The teacher had composed herself and had returned to her condescending tone. She yanked away the diaper, took up Elizabeth’s legs with her left arm and paddled the poor girl where she lay. Elizabeth squirmed and squealed as that little paddle pinkened her bottom. Once or twice she reached out to cover her bottom but the teacher just whacked her fingers and Elizabeth yanked her hands back to her chest. Malcolm had a much better view of her head than of her bottom and he watched her shake it back and forth as she screamed apologies. “Your little friends” SMACK! “got dressed without complaint,” SMACK! “I’ll see if I can’t,” SMACK! “Put some self control in you before lunch.” SMACK! Ms. Tataki let go of Elizabeth’s legs and the sobbing and shaking girl let them fall to the table. The teacher sat her up and dressed her quickly in a pink smock, carried her over to the corner stools and strapped her down. “You can just think about what you’ve done while I address you classmates,” said Tataki. She took her place infront of the white board. “Now I’ve got a morning full of activities for you,” said the teacher. “We have some school work and some physical activities. If you pay attention you might learn something. But first let’s get you spankings out of the way. Let’s see, Malcolm, you’re the youngest so you can go first.” She gestured to the memory bench. The boy obediently rose and placed himself over the purple pads. Ms. Tataki undid the clothespins on his diaper and revealed the boy to the class. She tapped her paddle on his bottom three times and set to work snapping it across his fanny. It hurt so bad, Malcolm kicked his right leg in the air in shock. The teacher pressed her hand down upon his back and resumed. “You have no one,” SPANK! “to blame but yourself,” SPANK! “young man.” SPANK! “If you’re going to be naughty,” SPANK! “You’re going to end up,” SPANK! “with a bright red bottom.” SPANK! After twelve strokes and Malcolm’s bottom was a satisfactory shade of red and he was bawling his little eyes out, she released him, sat him up on the memory bench, placed a tissue over his nose and bade him blow, restored his diaper and sent him back to his seat. “Okay, Elizabeth, it’s your turn.” Tataki undid Elizabeth’s strap and hoisted the crying girl into her arms, only to redeposit her on the memory bench. Malcolm got a full view of Elizabeth’s red bottom as the teacher selected a slightly larger paddle from her array upon the wall. Tataki tapped the girl’s bottom with the implement and Elizabeth stiffened her body. Then Tataki started spanking. Elizabeth bucked her legs in pain and shrieked with each spank. Malcolm watched her bottom go white then red with each impact as the teacher alternated cheeks. “You’re little friends,” SPANK! “Got dressed without complaint.” SPANK! “And they did it without” SPANK! “Kicking their teacher.” SPANK! “And you WILL learn some self control here today.” One final, resounding SPANK! “Now you go take a seat,” said the teacher. Elizabeth lifted herself off the bench and hobbled over to the closest seat, both hands covering her bare cunny. “Trisha, you’re last,” said Ms. Tataki. The oldest girl rose as she was bid and draped herself over the memory bench. It was quite small for her and her head cleared the opposing edge easily. Trish grabbed the legs of the bench with her hands and set her jaw. Tataki bared her bottom and set to work. Trisha took her spanking well at first, but by stroke six she was sniffling and crying. By stroke twelve tears were flowing. Tataki sent her back to her desk. The teacher then escorted Elizabeth back to the changing tables and finished powdering and diapering her. With all three pennies dressed, sore and sat down, Tataki proceeded with the lessons. The panels Malcolm noted earlier slid open to reveal a drawing screen and a stylus on a wire (for security). “Now first you all have some school work to do,” said the teacher. The screen flashed a question: 2 + 2 = It can’t be that simple, thought Malcolm. It just can’t…maybe there’s a hidden decimal place… “Um, Ms. Tataki…” Trisha raised her hand. “Yes Trisha?” said the teacher. “I can’t seem to get the eraser function to work,” said Trisha. “Oh, you don’t get to erase on punishment work,” said the teacher. “You’ll just have to not make any mistakes.” So that’s the catch, thought Malcolm. I better be careful. “That’s stupid,” said Trisha. There was a snap and Trisha yelped and jumped out of her seat, clutching her bottom. “We don’t allow bad words like that in here young lady,” said the teacher. “Next time I may have to wash your mouth out.” Malcolm looked at the seat of his own chair. He saw two metal spots swept with the seat, each under a bottom cheek. Electric chairs, wonderful, thought Malcolm. I’d better be very careful. He focused on each problem and carefully wrote his answers. And each time he clicked the enter button, the screen flashed green signifying he got it right. He breathed a sigh of relief when the twentieth and final question disappeared from his screen (and thanked his lucky stars they were all Math problems). The final tally flashed on the screen: Trisha: 18/20 Elizabeth: 12/20 Malcolm: 20/20 “Well, I see I’ve got some spanking to do,” said Tataki as she rose from her desk and picked a red paddle off of her wall. She closed in on Elizabeth first. “Bend over your table now, Elizabeth,” Tataki instructed. She guided the child’s head down with her left hand, then undid Elizabeth’s diaper. Eight quick hard strikes chased a great wail out of the girl. The teacher repeated the same with Trisha, though she only received two strokes. “Okay class,” addressed Tataki after the girls were dressed again. “It’s time for dancing!” From speakers Malcolm could not see came a lively tune played entirely on a xylophone. It quickly became annoying. “Everyone stand up,” ordered the teacher the class obliged and she guided them into the relatively clear center of the room. The white board changed to show a cartoon elephant raising and lowering his trunk. “The elephant goes PPPPPPRRREEEEEEPM!” the teacher raised her arm and imitated an elephant, then bid the class to do the same, alternating arms. Then she had them jumping in the style of a cartoon kangaroo. Malcolm felt like an absolute fool. After Quantum Rangers, Samantha decided to take advantage of the pretty day and practice her harmonica outside. She was half way through “Behind Blue Eyes” when her mother called her back in. She was had brought one of the dining room chairs into the kitchen. Samantha was immediately on her guard. “Samantha,” her mother pulled her over to the chair and took a seat. “Do you know why your brother is getting punished today?” “Because he was mean to Amber?” suggested Samantha. “OH! And he was mean about the plague.” “Well we need to be sure that you are both going to behave,” said Alison as she reached up under Samantha’s skirt. “WAAAAI! It’s not fair! I was good!” insisted Samantha. “But you’ve also been fighting with your brother ever since he came here,” Alison slid Samantha’s panties down to her ankles “and I think that all the fighting you two do is giving you both a bad attitude.” She pulled Samantha over her knee. “If you had caused that kind of trouble at school, I would be punishing Malcolm now.” SPANK! “You both provoke each other,” SPANK! SPANK! “All the time!” SPANK! “And I can’t have you,” SPANK! SPANK! “Provoking your schoolmates as well.” SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! SPANK! “IIIIBEEEEGOOD!” SPANK! SPANK! “MOMMEEEEEEEE!” SPANK! SPANK!”WON’ FIGHT!” SPANK! SPANK! Alison pulled her daughter-convict into an embrace. “You both need to remember, Samantha,” said Alison, “it doesn’t matter who you quarrel with. You both need to learn to get along with everyone.” “Yes Ma’am,” said Samantha through tear filled eyes. The doorbell rang. Malcolm chewed his left knuckles in fear. On the table before him was a purple bowl full of grey groatma, specially formulated to provide a penny with vitamins, enzymes, proteins and other nutritional essentials without the superfluous element of taste (to be exact it tasted like boiled cardboard). The spoons the pennies had been given were made of grain (which tasted like a very boring biscuit) and the students would consume them after the soup was finished, but the things were so brittle it was not so difficult to snap them in half if one wasn’t too careful. When Elizabeth had broken hers when she pressed it too hard against the bowl, she had thrown the broken handle across the room in frustration. And that was why she was bare bottom and laying diaper style on the memory bench. The teacher had the girl’s feet in her left hand and the nursery cane in the other. “I’m just not happy with you today, Elizabeth,” said Tataki. “I’m just going to have to have you back next week and see if you can’t do a better job.” The cane came down on Elizabeth’s red and striped bottom causing ripples of flesh across her skin and another shriek to punctuate Elizabeth’s sobs. Her legs writhed in vain against the teacher’s grip. Malcolm had lost count of the exact numbers, but Elizabeth had been paddled twice, strapped once, and now caned, in addition to the several times she tried to shield her bottom with her hands out of instinct and had gotten wrapped in her fingers for it. The result was her bottom was a mess of red and purple bruises with one or two skin breaks from the cane, her fingers had a few lines of red here and there, her eyes were bloodshot from crying, and her voice was horse from shrieking. Malcolm almost felt guilty for going without extra punishment so far. Between Elizabeth’s outbursts and Trisha occasionally questioning procedure, both the girls had suffered the worst today while Malcolm had followed directions to the letter and never opened his mouth. “Well, your groatma isn’t going to finish itself,” said Tataki as she carried the sobbing Elizabeth to the changing tables. Both the other children got back to their meal. Watching Elizabeth get so cruelly exposed and caned had chased away Malcolm’s appetite, but he forced down the nutritional sludge all the same for fear of being punished for not cleaning his plate. As he chewed and swallowed the last of the spoon, there was a knock at the door. Tataki bade whoever it was enter and in walked Perskova. “It’s time for your final spankings,” the principal announced. “Malcolm, let’s start with you.” Tataki presented Malcolm with the bin of his clothes. “You were such a good boy today, Malcolm,” she said in a sing song voice. “You’re very obedient, but if you get sent back here again this year…” she reached around and gave his diapered bottom a good, hard pinch. Malcolm yelped. “…I’ll have an extra spanking ready for you.” “Malcolm,” said Perskova. “Thank Miss Tataki for instructing you today.” Malcolm gulped and found his voice. “That…thank you for the lesson Miss Tataki and for correcting me,” he said. “You’re welcome Malcolm,” said Tataki. The principal took the boy by his right hand, let him gather up the bin of his clothes with his left arm, and led him out of the room. Malcolm shuddered to think of being led down the hall in a diaper while the rest of the student body was present. Once in Perskova’s office, she sat him down in the chair opposite her desk and took her seat behind said desk. She produced the file that held his punishment paper. “Malcolm,” she said. “What did you mean when you said that your paper was not finished?” “Well just this morning I found a report that debunks the claim that a specific immune-booster of the time would have been sufficient to fight off the plague and that the government had limited supply of them as a form of population control. Actually the supply was limited because the warehouse of the primary manufacturer had stored them incorrectly and the needles had corroded. Even then, the boosters would not have been enough to fight the plague.” “Ah,” said the principal. “I thought you had meant that you weren’t able to reach the assigned length of ten pages.” “No, Ma’am,” said Malcolm. “I got to-” “Seventeen pages,” interrupted Perskova, “yes I know. If it had fallen short of the mark, you would receive three extra swats of the paddle for every page you missed.” “Oh…” said Malcolm. A slim hope sprung into his mind “Well, does going over the mark reduce my spanking?” “No,” said Perskova. “Oh,” said Malcolm. “Next time I wouldn’t mislead your teacher like that,” said the principal “It might be seen as a surreptitious attempt to reduce expectation and thus engender goodwill towards the finished product.” “I…” Malcolm thought about what she said. Recognition clicked. “OH! I didn’t mean-I wasn’t trying to mislead! I just-! I was going to explain but you left and-!” “Malcolm,” said Persokva (in more of an order than an address). Malcolm fell silent. “Next time just tell the teacher the page length first.” “Well, even then,” said Malcolm, “Between the survivor stories to the medical work to the reconstruction, and everything else, the history of the plague would never fit on ten pages.” “Mm, well said,” said Perskova. “But about the paper. It’s quite well done. Worth a solid hundred if you were going for a grade. You were quite comprehensive, you even included two pages debunking the common claims of the denial faction. I dare say that your version was more accurate than the versions some of our politicians use.” Was that a joke? thought Malcolm. Did Perskova the Persecutor just make a joke? “Based on this and Tataki’s report of your behavior, I see no reason to extend your punishment beyond eighteen spanks with the paddle, plus a little extra.” Malcolm’s immediate self shuddered at the prospect of eighteen of the best on the spot indicated from the principal plus whatever ‘extra’ was, but his far seeing self was relieved that after that it would be over. “One more thing,” addressed the principal. “Mrs. Moley sent me a text late last night complimenting our new ‘apology letter program’ and encouraging me to keep it going. Do you know anything about that?” “Oh, I wrote Amber Moley an apology and sent it last night,” said Malcolm. “Well, Malcolm, it was very nice of you to do that,” complimented Persokva. “I…uh…I can’t take the credit,” confessed Malcolm. I better be up front, he thought. “Really?” asked Perskova. “Well it was Natalie Cummings who said I should and I liked the idea so I did it,” said Malcolm. “Oh, did your parents suggest you write the letter too?” asked the principal. “Uh,” Malcolm thought for a moment, trying to remember if they HAD actually suggested it. “I don’t remember, I mean, If they did, I didn’t hear them,” confessed the boy. “Well it was still the right thing to do,” said the principal, her tone somewhat lighter. “In fact I think I will put in an ‘apology letter’ assignment into our conflict resolution procedures.” She picked up the first grade paddle from her desk. “Now stand up.” Malcolm obeyed. It’s funny how he never thought about his bottom until he knew there was a spanking coming. Perskova sat down in the chair and undid the pins on Malcolm’s diaper, dropping it to the floor. She pulled the sniffling boy over her lap and… SPLAT! “WHAAAAAAA!” Malcolm’s tears renewed themselves. SPLAT! WACK! SPLAT! “And you remember this, boy,” WHACK! WHACK! “If I EVER have you in here,” WHACK! “for insulting a student so callously again,” WHACK! WHACK! “I will make your bottom burn even worse!” WHACK! “DO YOU UNDERSTAND!” WHACK! “YESMAAM!” WHACK! IBEEEEEGOOO-!” WHACK! “WHAAAAAA!” WHACK! “SOOOOOREEEEEE! WHACK! WHACK! “NEBAGAIN!” WHACK! “The last one,” said Perskova, “by tradition, must be the hardest.” She laid down one great final WHACK!!! Beating a great wail of pain out of the boy’s mouth. “One more thing, Malcolm,” said Perskova. “You can come in now,” she called out to the door (the walls of her office were thin enough to let sounds carry through easily to let expectant pennies hear the cries of their fellows). She set Malcolm down on wobbly legs and the door opened. On the other side was Amber Moley armed with a Spanking Suzie paddle escorted by Mrs. Moley. She started giggling. “You look silly,” she said. Malcolm rolled his tearful eyes. “It would make you both feel better if Amber takes a hand in your punishment,” said Perskova. Amber approached Malcolm and took her seat on the chair. Malcolm understood and it did seem to fit. “Amber,” he said meeting her gaze,” I’m sorry I talked so mean to you. It was wrong and I have no excuse.” He obediently placed himself over her narrow lap. “I think I’ll be able to forgive you soon,” said Amber. “Now count these out.” She raised the paddle and brought it down. Smack. It was nowhere NEAR as bad as Perskova had been. It was medium strength at best. “One.” Smack. “Two.” Smack. “Three.” Smack. “Four.” Smack. “Five.” Smack! Okay that one stung a little. “Six.” “Malcolm,” said Amber, “I forgive you.” Malcolm cried in shame, relief, and gratitude. “I’m really sorry,” he cried. “And I forgive you,” said Amber “now please get up.” He rose and she reached out and hugged his head. “Okay, Malcolm,” said Perskova, “let’s get you dressed.” Peskova set Malcolm on her desk and started removing the kindergarten uniform. Mrs. Moley took up her daughter’s hand and led her out the door, shutting it along the way, and passing Mrs. Martin on the way out. “I was surprised by that last part where you said ‘I forgive you,’” said Mrs. Moley. “Well, that’s what I’d want to hear,” said Amber. Malcolm shifted uncomfortably in his car seat. That what all this does to you, he thought as he watched the houses blend together into lines again on the return trip home. ''Eventually we all just blend together into obedient little things. That’s what it’s all about. Find a kink…pound it out.'' His mother turned into the drive way, parked the car, and extracted Malcolm from his car seat. He rubbed his bottom all the way to the front door. “Malcolm!” exclaimed Natalie. Malcolm had just enough time to be shocked that Natalie was visiting before she tackle hugged him. Thrown off his balance, he stumbled backward and struck his head against the wall. “My head!” he exclaimed. He slid down the wall and landed on his still sore seat. “My butt! My head and my butt simultaneously!” he groaned. Natalie let go, sat on her knees, and started spouting rapid apologies. Malcolm rubbed his head with his right hand and his butt with his left. “Natalie!” exclaimed Aunt Jen. “What was that?” she yanked her daughter up by her arm and hauled her into the living room. “Did you throw a party while I was gone?” Malcolm asked his mother. “Natalie wanted to see you when you weren’t grounded anymore,” explained his mother. “I wasn’t expecting her to be so eager.” The familiar sound of a palm striking bare flesh echoed in from the living room, accompanied by Natalie’s barely coherent apologies. Malcolm picked himself off of the floor and dashed into the living room. “No! No!” he said. “It’s okay! I’m okay!” he insisted. “No need for that!” Aunt Jen had sat down on the big chair. Natalie was between her mother’s legs and bent over her left knee. Her skirt was up and her pink panties were down to her ankles. Malcolm was surprised to see switch marks on her bottom as well. Samantha and Jaydee were watching from the sofa. “Oh but she does need this,” said Aunt Jen as she smacked her daughter-convict’s bottom three more times. Then she released the sniffling Natalie and pulled up her underwear. “Now can I trust you to play with your friends more carefully?” she asked without it sounding like a question. “Yes Ma’am,” said Natalie. Aunt Jen and Mommy retired to the kitchen. “OH! Samantha,” said Jaydee. “Now’s a good time for you to show me that thing in your room.” She hopped off the couch. “What thing in my ro-OOOM!” said Samantha as Jaydee yanked her off the sofa. “You know,” said Jaydee as she dragged Samantha up the stairs. “That thing that isn’t in this room.” They were gone. Malcolm and Natalie shuffled their feet a bit before Natalie finally spoke. “So…was it bad?” she asked. “Was what bad?” asked Malcolm. “Detention today,” said Natalie. “Oh, right,” said Malcolm. “Well it was…well it was equally painful and humiliating.” He went on to describe the punishments and indignities of the kindergarten treatment. “…and the whole time the teacher never stopped talking in that super patronizing tone, like she was out of some toddler’s holo. She even kept talking like that when she was paddling us.” “That sounds…creepy,” said Natalie. “Yeah, totally,” agreed Malcolm. “So...”said Natalie, then she giggled, “What does your bottom look like?” Malcolm blushed. He turned around and undid his pants, pushing them down to his knees. He slid his underwear down too and felt the cold air on his bottom while he pulled his shirt down to keep his privates covered. “I haven’t seen it yet,” said Malcolm. “How bad is it?” “You got a purple spot on your right,” said Natalie as she bent down to get a closer look at her boyfriend’s bottom. “And you’ve still got some powder here and there.” “Oh I forgot about that,” said Malcolm as he yanked up his clothes. “Hey, did you get a switching earlier?” “Um…yeah,” Natalie blushed. “What for?” Malcolm was curious as such an offence in his house would mean he wouldn’t get to visit a friend. “I asked for it,” said Natalie. “Wait, Literally?” asked Malcolm. He honestly couldn’t imagine a penny willingly asking for a switching. “Well…I’m the one that asked Amber the wrong thing in the first place,” said Natalie. “I asked her what a ‘torcher’ was because I really didn’t know what it meant and then she unloaded on me and then you walked up.” She was wringing her hands. “And I’ve spent the last three days going back and forth on whether or not it was all my fault in the first place and half expecting the intercom to call ME to Perskova’s office, and knowing that you’ve got caned and paddled…So I told Mommy everything and I asked for a special punishment.” Malcolm was speechless. He honestly didn’t know how to respond to that. “So…wanna see the marks…?” asked Natalie. Malcolm’s heart started pumping. “Yes,” said Malcolm. “Yes I do.” Natalie turned and held the back of her skirt up with her left hand. She used her right to pull down her panties. Malcolm felt a thrill. He had seen Natalie naked before, at school and that slumber party they had thrown, but this was different. They were alone, and Natalie had suggested showing her bottom. And after all, he rationed, pennies are supposed to show each other sore bottoms. So there is nothing wrong with this. Her bottom was pink from her fresh spanking, and the switch had left a dozen or so slightly pinker raised lines across it. Malcolm bent down to get a better look (as Natalie had done). He felt himself blushing. “Do…Do you want to feel them?” asked Natalie. Malcolm felt a naughty jolt go through himself. He raised his hand as if to feel, but then yanked it back, remembering the warnings of his parents. “No I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Malcolm and he stood upright. “Yeah I didn’t think it was,” said Natalie as she yanked up her panties and let her skirt fall back. “Oh, I recorded Age of Legends,” she said as she fished a widget out of her shirt pocket. “Wanna watch?” “Yeah! Thanks!” said Malcolm. She placed the widget on the coffee table and the file was transferred to the screen. “Oh that reminds me,” said Malcolm, “I wanted to try the seiza position.” “Wh-what’s that?” asked a suddenly cautious Natalie (she didn’t know what it was but it sounded dirty). “It’s where you sit like this,” Malcolm got down on his knees and sat on his ankles. “Oh,” said an assuaged Natalie. “It takes most of the pressure off the sit spot,” explained Malcolm. “But I hear it gets harder after a while so I want to see how long I can do it.” Natalie sat the same way. The show started. Jaydee sat on the ground with her back resting against Samantha’s bed. Samantha lay on her back on the bed with her head hanging over the side. “I still can’t believe they actually got a trial,” said Jaydee. “You know what I got, a very polite lawyer telling me I had just lost a trial I was unconscious for.” “Wait your parents didn’t tell you?” asked Samantha. “Tell me what?” asked Jaydee. “You were a really big deal,” said Samantha. “It was in the headlines. AGENT INFILTRAION!” She waved her arms in the air. “All the conservatives were saying you were the scouts for a full on invasion and some of the more extreme elements wanted to get their hands on you personally. Everyone on the liberal side was shocked that you didn’t get a fair trial and didn’t buy the story that you were in quarantine at the time of the trial. The extremist elements were saying that this was a sign that the government was getting ready to wage war on the Earth federation.” “Really?” asked a stunned Jaydee. “Yeah, everybody was talking about you,” said Samantha. “What happened?” “As I recall, a Z-list musician crashed his car into a petting zoo and then nobody cared about your story anymore.” Jaydee fell onto her side and groaned in hopelessness. “The point is, they gave these guys a trial because they probably didn’t want the same hoopla as last time. A big public display and sentencing.” “Oh,” said Jaydee. “Hey, are you serious that people out there want to get me.” “Not anymore,” assured Samantha. “Now they all want those Pizgarlen guys. You got nothing to worry about.” “Yeah, they would be much better scapegoats than me,” observed Jaydee. Jennifer and Alison sat at the kitchen table sharing a pot of tea. “My kids are always on their best behavior when Jaydee and Natalie come over,” observed Alison. “Yes, they work well in a group,” agreed Jennifer. “Oh I almost forgot!” she set down her tea. “You will NEVER guess who I saw doing the October-May thing!” “Who?” asked Alison. “Judge Regina Bullingham,” said Jennifer. “The Mad Bull roped herself a boytoy?” asked Alison. “Girl-toy,” said Jennifer. Alison gasped. “I never would have thought it!” Alison whispered. “And here’s the cherry on top, it’s that Timson girl from the dinner party,” said Jennifer. “Oh now I KNOW you are lying to me,” said Alison. “Hand to God, I went to the organic food market and realized I was behind them in line. The girl was hanging on the Bull’s arm like it was her beloved stuffed animal. When I identified myself they both gave a start, composed themselves and talked to me like nothing was wrong, after they got out of sight I heard the girl laughing. They. Are. A. Couple.” “But she was underage,” insisted Alison. “No she isn’t,” said Jennifer, “the age of consent is eighteen.” “It’s twenty-one,” insisted Alison. “No we changed it,” said Jennifer. “Remember when rejuves still had voting rights and they wanted to get to it earlier and we made the age of consent fourteen and then we realized what a mistake that was and we knocked it up to eighteen?” “When was that?” asked Alison. “2338,” said Jennifer. “Oh,” said Alison. “I was drunk that year…and the preceding one.” “How do you manage to avoid this information for a century and a half?” asked Jennifer. Before Alison could answer, they earpieces echoed with the sound of Malcolm groaning in pain. Natalie was lying on her side. They both rushed into the living room to find Malcolm rolling on his back grasping his calves and saying “OW” over and over again. “What happened?” asked Jennifer. “I stopped after two minutes,” said Natalie, “but he went for a full twenty minutes.” “What did he do for twenty minutes?” asked Alison. “I sat on my ankles!” proclaimed Malcolm. “You mean the seiza position?” asked Alison. “YES!” said Malcolm. “First it ached, then they went numb, then I took my legs out from under me and they really started to ache!” Alison chuckled. “Why would you do that?” asked Alison. “I wanted to see if it was an easier way to sit after a spanking!” said the boy. “Malcolm,” Alsion said, “You know that kids in old Japan considered that a punishment.” “That would have been helpful at a much earlier juncture! DAH! SECOND WAVE OF ACHE! SECOND WAVE! THIS ISN’T AN IMPROVEMENT AT ALL!” The ladies laughed at his misfortune. The End