The Future Of Slippering
In a far-future pleasure emporium, certain things are inevitable. Spanking is very much on the list:
It’s a bare minimally furnished room, reminiscent of a clinic or a spa. A single word glows on the far wall: Inevitable. This must be it.
I step forward tentatively, examining my new surroundings, immediately trying to work out what I should be doing next. Somewhat surprisingly, there’s no furniture, nowhere to sit and wait. Apart from the glowing word, there’s really just one other feature of significance, a waist high hole in the same wall, a dark circular gap just wider than a dinner plate.
I look back and realise the elevator door has closed behind me, blending perfectly into the room. This room now has no obvious exits.
“Hello?” I say loudly. But there’s no response.
Inevitable? What’s inevitable? That I’ll end up talking to myself? That I’ll get bored and fall asleep on the floor?
My attention is drawn back to the round hole, perhaps there’s some kind of key or button inside. I bend over and hesitantly reach inside with one hand, there does indeed seem to be something in there… a small round object, floating in mid-air. Frustratingly, I feel it evade my fumbling hand, so I instinctively reach in with both hands, cupping my palms in an effort to catch it.
Suddenly I feel my hands tingle, I try to pull them out, but realise my hands are held fast by some invisible force. I curse my impetuousness. Now I’m trapped.
All I can do now is alter my stance to spread my weight more comfortably on my feet – and wait. Plenty of time to wonder if what I’ve just done was supposed to happen, or if I’ve somehow messed the whole thing up.
Eventually I hear footsteps behind me. In my current position, bent over with my hands stuck inside this alcove, I have to look over my shoulder to see who or what is approaching. It turns out to be a man in an elegantly tailored black suit.
“Hello!” I say with a light-hearted giggle, “I think I’ve become a bit stuck!”
“That is inevitable” he replies coolly, without even adding a greeting of his own.
“Sorry?” I reply dumbly.
“Your current position was quite inevitable. From the moment you picked up the envelope. Everyone who’s ever been issued that card has had an identical experience.”
“And what experience is that?” I ask.
He seems momentarily distracted, staring into space, a gaze that typically means he’s reading something on his retina display.
“You are the 821st visitor to this room. It seems only 6 have ever failed to put their hands in the alcove. Those individuals sat against the wall and waited for me to arrive, but even they put their hands into the slot when I asked them to.”
“Sorry to be so predictable” I mutter dryly, but that seems to kill the conversation a bit. There is now an awkward silence.
“Ah… 64 seconds” he says cryptically, at last.
I wait for him to clarify, but he maintains his silence.
“10 seconds…” he says at last.
I begin a countdown inside my head, mentally bracing myself. Ten seconds later, I feel my gown suddenly disintegrate and drop to the floor, leaving me completely and unexpectedly naked. I look down at panels of white downy fabric scattered beneath me, feeling like a flower that had lost its petals.
“What?!” I shriek.
“The stitches in your gown were made to deteriorate under the wavelength of light in this room. On average it takes 7 minutes, 35 seconds. Your nakedness was certain as soon as you entered. Basic photochemistry. A very predictable reaction. Entirely inevitable.”
I struggle against my invisible bonds. I’m a powerful person, used to being in control, so I find my sudden entrapment and exposure both frustrating and highly humiliating. This is my time, my extremely precious time, in which I expect to spend enjoying myself. No one treats me like this.
…
I’m just about to complain, but he reaches down and sprays something into my open mouth. Almost instantaneously, I feel myself lose sensations in my tongue, turning my nascent protest into an unintelligible babble. Then my vocal chords stop responding, so the only sound I can utter is a plaintive gasp.
“Well, Madam. It appears you’re at my mercy now. It’s best if you don’t struggle. Just try to relax.”
“The silence spray will mean this conversation is rather one-sided. But it’s better this way. Nothing you could have said would have changed what’s about to happen.”
“I know you think you have free will, some say in what happens to you, but here that’s an illusion. Everything that’s happened here has been inevitable from the moment you stepped into your taxipod.”
“Now this is clever! You see this wand? It allows me to control your muscles. Look, I can alter your stance. Hips down, legs wide apart. Oh, that’s better.”
“Oh yes. What a delightful bottom you have.”
“I have another surprise for you. Do you recognise this?”
“You do, don’t you? It’s a replica of smooth-soled bedroom slipper, circa 1980. I know you’ve seen pictures of slippers like this being applied to the bare bottoms of naughty girls. It is an excellent disciplinary implement, a flexible fabric shoe with foam base and a smooth rubber sole. Let me demonstrate.”
“You see? What a wonderful sound it makes. It imparts a stinging whack without damaging the subject’s skin. Perfect for long hard after-school spankings, and creating sore bottoms that will still be hot and pink at bedtime.”
“I have something else for you. For your pretty little cunt…”
“Ah… there we go.”
“This probe is now monitoring your pudendal nerve. Every sensation you receive will be sent to our databanks and processed at the speed of light. Isn’t that incredible? Orders of magnitude faster than your own primitive nerves. We’ll know the effect of each spank long before the sensation eventually tingles its way to the top of your spine.”
“Your body will betray you, revealing just how much you enjoy every stroke, every touch. We’ll know exactly how close you are to climaxing.”
“Now, now. You’re struggling again.”
“Didn’t I tell you that was pointless? Your future has already been written, the events of this session have already been decided. Everything that happens next is inevitable. You’re just catching up with it.”
“I’ve found a good hard slippering reminds wilful young ladies of their place…”
Excerpted from the story Inevitable by Spanking Theatre.
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