This story was inspired by Joe Whatever's "AI: Future Imperfect."  
Unfortunately, he is quite incommunicado, but I imagine he will 
see it here, and I hope he approves.
 




                       CYBERDYNE ASM5

                             by

                        C. Lakewood  



    "I have never cared much for this sort of machine," 
Headmistress Lauren Templar said, with a half-sneer.

    The fat salesman smiled broadly.  "But there IS no other 
machine that can be compared to the Cyberdyne Systems Automated 
Spanking Machine, Mark 5.  Our competitors have barely advanced 
beyond where our first model was twelve years ago -- and, frankly, 
while it was pioneering back in 2017, we've gone far beyond that 
with each new model...culminating in the ASM5.  I'm sure that 
this machine will more than meet all the demands of Berkshire 
School...."    

    "It's pronounced 'BARK-sher,' the headmistress interrupted, 
frostily.

    The salesman bobbed his head and apologized, then paused a 
moment to recapture his train of thought before soldiering on.  
"This machine is built like a Porsche or Ferrari.  You can rely 
on it being state-of-the-art now and for years to come.  As a 
matter of fact, the hardware is fully warranted for fifteen 
years and the software for ten.  This model has all the bells 
and whistles -- super-polygraph, high-end camera and monitor, 
tri-def recorder, and restraints that are both safe and infallible. 
The A/V, which automatically records each session, is absolutely 
tamper-proof and accepted as evidence in any court, nationwide -- 
so you needn't worry about any unfounded cruelty charges.  In 
addition, the design and construction have the highest ergonomic 
rating.  The padded bench is covered in genuine leather -- not 
synthetic -- and domestic hides, mind, not cheap foreign stuff.  
This one is pigskin, terracotta color, but other choices are 
available.  And all of our leathers are conditioned -- by an 
exclusive, proprietary process -- so that, regardless of the 
inevitable staining, they are actually enhanced as they absorb 
the punished girls' sweat and...ah...other secretions."  He had 
a thoughtful look in his eyes as he stroked the leather surface.  
"The machine's hardware is completely modularized so that you can 
easily incorporate any future changes -- or not, as you choose.  
The software, of course, is the brains of the system, and we're 
always tinkering with that...improving, adding more functionality.  
But you would receive every successive upgrade free, for the life 
of the warranty...."  

    He stopped for breath and noticed that Miss Templar still 
looked skeptical.  ("Sour old broad," he thought.  "But I guess 
she's not really that old -- early 40s, probably -- though she 
dresses older.  Well-built, though, from what I can tell....")

    "Nothing that is in production is 'state-of-the-art' -- unless 
the 'art' is at a stand-still," she said, tartly.  "And animals 
'sweat'; people 'perspire.'"

    "Errr...yes...well...."  He wiped his brow.  "So, what can I do 
to convince you of its merits, ma'am?  A test. perhaps?"

    "Miss.  Perhaps....  But on whom could it be tested?  There's 
no one else around.  Students, faculty, administrative staff -- 
even the cleaning ladies -- have already gone off on their 3-day 
weekend.  What about you?

    He smiled, sheepishly.  "Ah.  Much as I would like to oblige, 
ma-miss, the equipment's not safety-rated for subjects over 225 
pounds....  And, while it could really hold more than that -- even 
250 pounds -- easily enough, I'm afraid that I, well....  I don't 
suppose that...ahem...you...."

    She fixed him with a withering glare.

    "No, I suppose not," he finished.

    She softened a bit.  "If you would care to leave the device 
here for a few days, with an instruction manual, of course, I 
might possibly be able to find an appropriate...'subject.'  You 
could come back toward the middle of next week."

    "Splendid!" he said, rubbing his hands together.  "And it 
is time I was going.  There's the book; it should tell you 
everything you need to know.  And, in case there's any...ah, 
confusion, just hit the red 'EMERGENCY STOP' button.  That'll 
clear the program.  Here's my card, with my sat-phone number 
-- any hour, day or night, if you have any questions at all.  
Oh, I should mention that, while you can always upgrade if you 
want more...ah, serious...implements, the junior cane, top-grain 
leather paddle, and light, Lochgelly-style tawse come standard 
with this machine.  Furthermore, you don't have to waste time 
detaching one and attaching an alternate.  There are three 
activator arms; each implement has its own arm and is therefore 
instantly available."  

    "Two things may be 'alternates'; three or more are 'options.'"

    "Errr...of course.  Well, I'll see you, say, Wednesday 
afternoon.  Good-bye, then.  I can see myself out."

    After making sure he had driven off, Lauren Templar settled 
down with the operating manual and the remains of a pot of tea.  
She had already decided who was going to test the machine -- but 
she'd have been hanged before telling that odious salesman.

    Fifty-seven minutes later, the tea set had been washed up and 
the essential points of ASM5's operations digested.  She drew the 
curtains, locked the door, and undressed down to camisole and 
French-cut panties.  Hesitating momentarily, she reminded herself 
that the girls were always spanked on the bare, then shrugged, 
murmured, "In for a penny, in for a pound," and went on to strip 
completely naked.  She laid a folded tea-towel on the padded bench, 
wanting to avoid staining the expensive leather with, as that toad 
of a salesman had put it, "other secretions."  Then she typed in 
the name of the offender, selected the implement (tawse), severity 
(medium), and number of strokes (6).  Consulting the manual, she 
found the offense code for "masturbation" and, nodding, entered 
that into the machine as well.  Finally, she chose the ASM5's 
voice module at random -- #7 -- without bothering to look it up; 
that feature was a matter of indifference to her.  On the other 
hand, she did want to test the machine's supposed lie-detector 
capability, so she carefully attached the sensor pads to her head 
and chest and the blood pressure cuff to her arm, before stretching 
out on the bench.

    Her normally disdainful features softened as she luxuriated in 
the almost sinful contact.  Squirming on the sensuous domestic 
pigskin, the role of naughty-schoolgirl-awaiting-punishment came 
easily, but it was harder to simultaneously maintain her other 
persona: punisher-of-perversion.  

    She positioned the waist-strap and slipped her wrists and 
ankles into their waiting cuffs, and all the restraints 
automatically tightened until they were snug and she was firmly 
spread-eagled.  The green "START" button, was conveniently within 
reach (although, she noted in passing, the red "EMERGENCY STOP" 
button was not).  

    The blinking green light beckoned to her.  

    She pressed it.

    The bench on which she lay rose slightly in the middle, 
elevating her pink, well-toned bottom.

    "So, heah's another naughty little girl caught playin' with 
herse'f, eh?  How often do yew do it, Laurie?  Tell the truth, 
now," the machine asked in a thin, oily, malicious red-neck voice.

    Lauren blushed.  She had a pang of doubt regarding the wisdom 
of her choice of offenses.

    "I-I DON'T!  NEVER...sir!"

    A moment later, the machine responded, "That theah's a lie 
an' will get yew nothin' but extras."  Lauren was startled to 
see the "number of strokes" counter roll over to 12.  The voice 
continued, "What we've got heah is...fail-yah to commun'cate...."  

    She recognized the voice now and immediately wondered if the 
machine's AI keyed its personality to the voice, and if she 
could have chosen, say, Jane Darwell or S. Z. Sakall....

    But the nasal voice was insistent.  "HOW often?"

    She hastened to reply, "Th-three...or-or maybe four times a 
week, sir...."  And then blurted, "Sometimes more." 

    "'More'?  When...and why?"

    ("Oh, god!" she thought.  "But I've got to tell the bastard the 
truth...or maybe a half-truth....")  "Well, weekends...when I have 
more time...sir."  

    "The WHOLE truth, missy!"

    "Well...sir...s-sometimes when I p-pun-ish a girl...or witness 
a punishment...or even just THINK about it...."

    "Well?"

    "I-I get s-s-so...ex-cited that I must go off somewhere private 
and f-fin-ger myself...."  She was trembling.  She despised losing 
control like this; yet it did seem to enhance her arousal....  And 
she was, after all, a naughty schoolgirl, wasn't she?  And she did 
have to confess her transgressions to the headmaster, didn't she?  
And they were alone, weren't they?  And...and...after confession, 
came the penance, didn't it?  

    And Lauren Templar (starchy headmistress) looked down upon 
Laurie Templar (teachers' pet who had always yearned to break a 
few prudish rules) and smiled her thin, judicial smile.

    Thus encouraged, Lauren/Laurie began her confession, a tangled 
skein of sins and misdemeanors that stretched back thirty years 
or more...while the ASM5 listened patiently.  How much of it 
was authentic and how much mere fantasy, perhaps not even Lauren 
could say....

    Not that it mattered much. 

		******************************

    After she ran out of breath at last, the machine roused itself.  
"Now, missy, foah what yew'ah about to receive, yew should be 
truly grateful...."  She could envision him now -- a sly, stupid 
little man in a rumpled white suit, fanning himself and running 
his lecherous eyes over her naked body.... 

    There was a soft whirr as the ASM5 went into action.  Laurie 
felt a drum-beat of very light, rapid strokes on her buttocks.  
She was quite aware of what it was -- it was to prepare her for 
the caning proper that was to come, and she was interested to find 
that, while it stung, it was also (as she had suspected from the 
actions of the girls who had squirmed under her cane), all in all, 
not unpleasant.  Had she not been bound, she would have lifted her 
bottom, shamelessly inviting more.  She was getting hot -- all 
over, in fact, as the cane teased her rosy rump, on and on.

    ("Cane"?  The left side of her brain reasserted itself 
momentarily, while the rest of her writhed there in her own 
sweat -- yes, "sweat"!  Surely she had selected "tawse"....
Hadn't she?)

    Then the cane strokes slowed, but became much more powerful, 
lines of fire burning across her sinful butt.  She writhed, to 
the limits of her ability, and the tea-towel slipped to the floor.  
She squeezed the padded leather with her thighs, and her 
cunt-drool began to spread out beneath her.

    "Yew'ah a right juicy little thang, ain't yew, Laurie?"  

    In a flicker of intellect, she wondered if the bench were 
equipped with moisture sensors -- else how would HE know.  But 
then thought gave way to feeling, and she simply accepted that 
HE knew EVERYTHING.  Her mouth began to blubber promises, pleas 
for leniency, even while her crotch ground itself against the 
bench, desperate to gratify her lust.

    A dozen strokes of the cane fell, precisely timed and precisely 
placed, each hard enough to hurt, but not so hard as to make Lauren 
forget the shame and ignominy to which she was being subjected.  

    The machine finished by skilfully rubbing the cane up and 
down between her butt-cheeks for a couple of minutes, tickling 
her asshole and her cunt and teasing her into a rollercoaster 
blur of wicked thoughts.

    "Le's 'speramint now with a li'l change o' pace...."    

    There was a whirr-click-whirr, and Lauren felt a broad surface 
gently patting her flinching bottom.   A pause followed, then....

    Whack!

    It was a brisk spank from the stiff leather paddle.  

    Whack!  Another.

    Whack!  Another.  

    And each paddle-spank, painful enough in itself, re-ignited 
half a dozen of the welts left by the cane.

    Whack!  Whack!  Whack!  Whack!  

    "Oh, puh-leez, sir....  I'll be a good girl -- I...I won't 
abuse myself any more....  Please!"

    Whack!  Whack!  Whack!  Whack!  Whack! 

    "Juicin' yewse'f even moah now, Laurie?  Ah sweah, yew'ah neah 
in-corrigible!  Well...."
    
    There followed another whirr-click-whirr.  

    Laurie gasped.  Already well-chastised, she knew that more 
was to come.  And she writhed; she could not remember ever being 
as aroused as she was now.  Meanwhile, Lauren gritted her teeth, 
satisfied that the sordid little bitch was getting exactly what 
she'd needed for far too long....

    Then came a distraction -- the phone rang.  In due course, 
the call was picked up by her elderly answering machine, and 
Lauren recognized her own lemony voice informing the caller 
that she was "incommunicado" and instructing him to leave a 
message after the tone.

    And then.... 

    "Ma'am -- Miss, this is Billy Boyle -- regional sales 
representative for Cyberdyne Systems....  I...err...just 
received a holo-mail from the head office, warning me of-of 
a glitch that randomizes...well, randomizes upward...certain 
of the variables.  It was inserted, it seems, into the ASM5's 
software by a disgruntled, malicious programmer -- who has 
since been fired, of course.  We'll have a patch tested and 
ready by the beginning of next week, and I'll come out and 
install it on the machine I left with you.  That'll fix 
the...malfunction, but you shouldn't attempt to test the 
ASM5 until then.  If you have already begun a test, use the 
'EMERGENCY STOP' immediately...."

    Splat!  Whatever else Boyle had to say was lost as the tawse 
intervened.  Laurie's fingers strained frantically toward the 
"EMERGENCY STOP" button that was so tauntingly close, but just 
out of reach.

    After a few strokes, however, there was a pause for more 
conversation between machine and maiden.

    "I bet yew'ah STILL fant'sizing like some critter in heat.  
Tell me all yoah de-praved thoughts an' dreams, Laurie.  An' 
remembah -- confession's good foah the soul...but lyin' gets 
yew extras!"

    Laurie's confession went on for a while, punctuated only, 
from time to time, by the kiss of the tawse or by her grunts 
and gasps as each successive orgasm swept over her.

		******************************

    Late that Wednesday afternoon, Boyle left the school a rather 
frazzled, but very happy man.  He may not have been Mensa material, 
but he had been a salesman for a long time and knew when to talk 
and when to keep his mouth shut.  He would not jeopardize a sale 
in an attempt to satisfy his curiosity about non-essentials.  
Still, however, he was a-boil with questions....  Why did MISS 
Templar insist on being able to select either program -- either 
the sabotaged one or the de-bugged one -- causing him untold grief 
and more than an hour on the phone with a tech working it all out?  
How many "test subjects" had she found?  There must have been a 
few; the leather doesn't stain that easily, yet the bench had 
been modestly covered with a quilt.  And who were they?  Naughty 
schoolgirls?  Attractive naughty schoolgirls?  (He wished he'd 
been allowed to examine the A/V....)  And why was that fat check 
for the ASM5 -- payment in full, tra-la! -- drawn on her personal 
account and not "BARK-sher" School's?  Why, for that matter, was 
she a tad less snooty now than she had been on his previous visit?

    But then he sighed.  He realized that, although he understood 
women as potential customers, they were pretty much a mystery 
otherwise.  (Something to which three ex-wives would definitely 
attest.)  His curiosity was in fact already beginning to subside, 
and it would be gone shortly, as he turned his mind to more 
pressing matters -- namely, how he was going to spend his 
commission from this latest sale...and how he was going to 
protect that income from the Three Piranhas.

    He whistled tunelessly as he drove off.      

